


Things You Can't Wriggle Out Of

by redbirdcalling (inkshaming), TaneKore



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bubble Bath, Consentacles, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Sparring, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Unconditional Love and Acceptance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkshaming/pseuds/redbirdcalling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaneKore/pseuds/TaneKore
Summary: Resurrection wasn’t the only side effect of the Lazarus Pit, and after seven years of keeping it hidden from everyone, Jason's wriggly secret is about to be discovered... by his unsuspecting boyfriend of four months.Tim Drake, however, has never been one for responding predictably.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not.
> 
> This all began because one dark and stormy night, when Tanekore told me I should write plantacles into my Step-Up AU because Jay+plantacles was canon. Sure enough, there is canonical proof of Jay turning into a tentacle monster at least once and… I was unable to escape the grip of a JayTim + consentacles fic. I blame her for this.
> 
> So here we are. The rating will most likely move up to explicit - because I may be trash, but I know what I’m here for - but until then, please enjoy my offering of the literal cutest, sweetest, heart-melting-est tentacle AU I have ever considered. It’s not the fic we deserve, but… it’s the one we need right now.
> 
> You’re welcome.

Jason could feel it coming on from the moment he woke up - that familiar flash of heat at the base of his spine, the warmth along his lower back, the strange, inexplicable sense that things were stirring, changing. Someone else with a similar sensation might search the horizon for thunder clouds or scent the wind for the smell of rain.

Jason knew better, though.

Rolling over, he groaned into his pillows. At least he had no plans for the evening beyond prowling around the city in a helmet and Kevlar; he had no outstanding commitments and no pressing cases to pursue. Dick would probably tease him for taking yet another night off and the batspawn would probably sneer and make snide comments about Gotham’s laziest former Robin, and Tim…

Jason smiled fondly. If anything, his boyfriend would probably approve. Tim was always going on about how much Jason needed to take it easy every once in awhile, even as he poured himself another coffee and buried himself in his casenotes.

He might not be as pleased if he learned the _real_ reason for Jason’s night in.

Which is why it’d be best if Timothy Drake never found out.

Sighing heavily, Jason felt around blindly for his phone, and once he’d found it, he pulled up the keypad and dialed a number from memory.

“B-man,” Jason greeted.

“Jason,” Bruce replied.

“I won’t be on patrol tonight, I’m taking the night off,”

Bruce grunted, an affirmation. “Anything serious?”

“Nah,” Jason replied. “Just something I can’t wriggle out of.”

Oh God why did he have to put it like that.

“Alright,” Bruce replied, oblivious to wave of pun-induced self-loathing that had overtaken the former Robin. “Thank you for letting me know.”

The line went dead.

 _And now that that's taken care of…_ Jason mused, doing a mental inventory of his current hideout for anything he might need. He’d definitely be able to make across town in time, but once he got to Skyline - his prefered safe-house when things came up - he’d be stuck there for at least a day or so. Best not to forget anything.

Two hours later, he was on the other side of town, armed with a two boxes of pancake mix and a stack of books from the secondhand bookshop, ready for a night in. He’d been going through this for so long - every three weeks, give or take, for the past seven years - he had his system down to a science. Settle in for the night, read a bit, maybe take a bath, sleep in the next day, have pancakes for lunch. It’d be nice. Enjoyable, even.

Jason scowled.

He’d barely set foot into Skyline when heat seared across his lower back, scorching and all too recognizable. Moving quickly, he shed his jacket and his shirt and braced himself against the kitchen counter, gritting his teeth as a prickling sensation began at the base of his spine and unfurled outward, reaching beyond the logical limits of his body.

It only took moments. Jason shifted and the new weight redistributed, his body automatically making the adjustments to his posture and balance as if turning into a tentacled freak was the most natural thing in the world. Merely an unfortunate side-effect of being brought back to life.

Or perhaps life was the unfortunate side-effect of monstrosity. It had been almost seven years since the transformations began, and he still couldn’t decide whether it was one way or the other.

No use trying to puzzle it out now. Jason Todd, former Robin, current Red Hood, certified undead vigilante extraordinaire, was a monster, and always would be.

So he might as well run a bath.

~~~

“M.A.X.,” Tim muttered, using his comm link to activate the voice-recognition software in his computer back at the Cave, “take me home.”

“Calculating,” an electronic voice replied. A split-second later, M.A.X. continued with, “Setting route to ‘Home.’ You should arrive in approximately fifty-eight minutes.”

Tim sagged wearily against the wall. He’d spent the entire night chasing around the Condiment King, a small-time Gotham criminal who became a big-time pain in the ass whenever he and his horrible food-related puns appeared to wreak havoc. If Tim had to hear one more rant about how much the Condiment King would _relish_ the defeat of Red Robin, he’d probably lose his mind. After spending all night taking down an entire fleet of condiment-flinging drones all over the city, an hour long journey home might as well take an eternity.

 _Maybe I'll just… take a nap right here,_ Tim thought sleepily. Tired as he was, the thought of sleeping on the rooftop didn't seem so bad. Wouldn't be all that comfortable, but it would be quiet, at least.

Noting Tim’s prolonged silence, M.A.X. chirped, “Other frequently visited locations close to you include: Barstucks Coffee, three minutes away, and the old Skyline Warehouse, seven minutes away.”

Tim perked up. Jason lived in Skyline, it served as the first of several hideouts he maintained around the city, and it was the only one Jason had kept for any length of time. In fact, Jason had lived in Skyline for as long as Tim could remember. Certainly as long as they had been dating, but that had been a relatively recent development.

...a development that gave Tim a good excuse to drop in.

Thinking quickly, he mentally recalled over the voices he had heard in the comm that night. Jason's voice had not been among them. “M.A.X.,” Tim murmured thoughtfully, “where was Jay tonight?”

“According to earlier communications to Bruce, Jason is taking the night off. No further information on his location has been received.”

“That's alright, M.A.X.,” Tim said with a grin. “Take me to Skyline.”

“Right away,” the program replied. In no time at all, Tim was unlocking the door to Jason’s place.

Of all Jason’s many safe-houses, Skyline was Tim's favorite. The old industrial building still had much of its charm, with its brick walls and weathered wood floors and lead-paned windows having aged like fine wine. The space was sparsely furnished, as Jason preferred; to anyone else, it would look like the place was ready to be packed up and left in a heartbeat, its owner ready to fly at a moment’s notice.

Tim knew better.

Shutting the door behind him and toeing out of his boots, Tim wandered quietly through the empty living room, past the deceptively stark kitchen, and into the study, a narrow room that made up for the lack of breadth in towering, breathtaking height. A wall of windows spanned the length of the room from the floor to the vaulted ceiling several meters overhead. On the other side, Jason had lined the exposed brick walls with towering bookshelves and he’d slowly filled them, making in them a new home for all the stories he’d fallen in love with over the years. The study was Jason’s sanctuary and it offered all he needed - a place to sit (there were two chairs now, since Tim had walked into his life), a reading lamp, and the city sprawling beneath his feet, rough and ragged and everything Jason lived for.

Tim couldn’t see the city now, however; the curtains had been drawn. Which was… surprising. In all the times Tim had been to Skyline, he had never seen the curtains closed. Perhaps Jay was out…

...or maybe, Tim mused, walking farther into the study and catching the scent wafting from the room beyond, he was taking a bubble bath.

Jason’s bedroom was situated just beyond the study, the door hidden between a gap in the bookshelves. It, too, was as sparsely decorated as the rest of the place, with only a full-sized bed and a plain-looking dresser and nightstand to take up the space. A small succulent sat in terracotta pot on the window sill across from the bed.

Dim light glimmered from somewhere in the ensuite bathroom, where Jason was indeed lounging in the tub - a long, freestanding, white stone and stainless steel affair, probably the most extravagant thing in Jason’s possession. The bathtub was massive, and the water inside it churned happily as the jets sent bubbles spinning in swirling eddies under the water’s foamy surface. And there Jason lay dozing, only the back of his head visible above the cottony clouds of foaming bubbles, haloed by the light of a single candle that sat on the far edge of the tub.

 _Dang, does he know how to spend a night off,_ Tim thought, eyes wide in awestruck appreciation.

And Tim wanted in on it.

Quickly as he could, Tim stripped down to his boxers, the steam from the bath kissing his bare skin as he left the pieces of his Red Robin suit in a crumpled heap on the floor. The water was still warm when he slipped into the tub, the bath hadn’t run too long then. There’d still be time to enjoy it.

Jason woke with a start to the sound of splashing.

 _“_ Who the f - _Tim?”_ Jason gasped. The expression that flashed across his face one of pure, unadulterated _terror._

And before Tim could even register that, Jason’s expression darkened, quickly melting from fear to fury. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing here?

This was not the reception Tim had been expecting - but he had little time to dwell on that. Something had wriggled by his leg. Something _alive._

And decidedly not human.

Startled, Tim grabbed at it blindly and when he caught it, he yanked it out of the water, only to be surprised by the sight of-

A tentacle.

A long, brilliant red tentacle, the flesh slippery and smooth and suckered under the tip. It squirmed irately in his hands, but Tim didn’t care. He could only stare at Jason, speechless for only a second at most.

“Okay,” Tim began. “I have _clearly_ intruded on something I wasn’t supposed to see here.”

 _“Clearly,”_ Jason repeated. His voice was hoarse.

Surprised - but not one to avoid addressing the octopus in the tub - Tim began to examine the tentacle in his hand. The creature it belonged to seemed rather displeased about being caught; the appendage flicked back and forth in Tim’s grip, suckering angrily at his fingers as Tim studied it from every angle. _Maybe I’m dreaming,_ Tim thought hazily. Things weren’t making sense.

“I didn’t know you could give an octopus a bath,” Tim said finally.

Silence.

“I mean, I don’t know much about octopi but it begs the question… wouldn’t it be bad for their skin or something?”

Tim felt a little higher, his hands tracing across the tentacle’s slippery flesh. He found himself immediately surprised by the actual girth of the thing; while the tip of the tentacle had been rather narrow, farther along the middle was now as wide as his own wrist.

“Also he’s kinda… _big._ ”

More stunned silence from Jason. In Tim’s hand, the tentacle tensed nervously.

“Where did you get an octopus this size anyways…” Tim muttered, sliding higher and higher up the tentacle he had found.

 _“_ Tim _,_ you don’t understand, no - _Timothy… ”_ Jason choked out, finally finding a voice again.

All at once, Tim’s hands reached a juncture where the tentacles morphed into soft, warm skin.

 _Human_ skin.

Tim stared at Jason.

Jason stared at Tim.

“...This is some hentai-type shit,” Tim muttered.

Jason choked.

Tim sat up, wholly oblivious to Jason’s horror as he took the tentacle in both hands and began to examine it more closely, peering at the suckers, rubbing the fluid that coated the tentacle between his fingers. His earlier exhaustion had all but vanished in light of his recent discovery, not that he was surprised. Mysteries woke him up.

Jason, for his part, said nothing as his entire world crashed down around him. It was the culmination of his greatest nightmares from the past seven years coming true. Someone discovering him like this. _Studying_ him. And worse - that _someone_ was actually some Jason kinda appreciated having around, someone it’d be a pain to never see again. Which was without a doubt what was about to come out of Tim’s mouth. There was no way Timothy Drake would ever want to go on another date with some tentacled _freak-_

Jason threw his head back and _moaned_ , the obscene sound ringing wetly around the tiled bathroom as Tim snatched his hands away from the tentacle he’d been looking at. He hadn’t expected stroking the underside like he had would produce such pleasure for Jason.

“This _is_ some hentai-type shit,” Tim breathed.

This wasn’t happening.

“So, Jason,” Tim began, casual as ever. He might’ve been about to ask his opinion on the weather. “How long have you been a broody pile of tentacle angst?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he raised a single tentacle out of the water, watching Tim’s eyes cross as the tentacle drew closer and closer to his face until…

Jason poked Tim on the nose.

“Call this hentai… _one_ more time,” Jason said menacingly.

Tim uncrossed his eyes, his gaze focusing on Jason as Tim met Jason’s glower with a solemn expression of his own.

“...so do I put this in my mouth, or…”

“That’s it,” Jason snapped. “Get out.”

~~~

When Jason finished his bath half an hour later, he decided his best course of action would be to pretend that nothing had happened.

So that’s what he did. Rising slowly, he heaved himself from the tub, toweled off, and slipped into his bathrobe - a secondhand blue terry affair he had cut a large hole from specifically for times like these. Tim was the farthest thing from his mind. Tim Drake did not exist.

 _He probably left already_ , Jason thought bitterly, dipping his towel in the warm water and watching the fabric darken as it grew wet. _And he won’t ever come back._

He pulled the towel out from the water and wrung it out, hard. Water trickled down his forearms.

_It was bound to happen eventually._

Sighing quietly, he used the damp towel to wipe the excess moisture that had beaded up along the dark red flesh. With any luck, Tim would be gone and Jason could sleep, and the tentacles would hopefully be gone by morning, taking any memories of this evening with it.

Instead, he found Tim sitting on his chair in the study, his towel neatly folded in his lap. The dry clothes he wore fit him poorly, clearly borrowed - Jason recognized his Wonder Woman t-shirt in a heartbeat, and the holey sweats were _definitely_ his - from Jason’s dresser, and they only helped perfect the calm, relaxed image that radiated from from every facet of the scene he had set. He was the picture of nonchalance… except for his hands, those expressive, fine-boned hands, which plucked nervously at the towel threads, the hems of his stolen clothing, the skin around his bitten nails.

Jason loved Tim’s hands. He’d miss holding them.

“So,” Tim began slowly, keep his eyes firmly fixed on his hands. “I realize that I may have made light of a rather sensitive subject.”

“Sensitive?” Jason demanded, cutting him off. _“Sensitive?”_

“They seemed pretty darn sensitive back in the tub,” Tim muttered under his breath.

“Of course I’m sensitive about them - they’re not even supposed to _exist,_ ” Jason hissed. “I have _tentacles,_ for fuck’s sake _.”_

“And also legs,” Tim noted curiously. “Which is rather unexpected, I wasn’t sure if… Can I ask where your, uh, appendages attach then?”

“...you're incorrigible,” Jason muttered, feeling the tentacles sucker along his legs and press nervously against his back.

“But not afraid,” Tim offered.

Jason was quiet.

“...or running away screaming, for that matter,” Tim continued, nonchalant as ever. “I mean, you’re pretty freaking weird to begin with, what with the vigilante thing, plus the being undead thing… and your fashion sense,” he said, picking at the borrowed t-shirt before giving a little smile.

“What do you want, Drake,” Jason demanded.

“Honestly?” Tim retorted, “I just want to go to sleep, I’m exhausted-”

“This isn’t a _game!”_ Jason snarled, turning away.

The seat groaned as Tim rose to his feet. His bare feet made next to no noise as he padded towards Jason, stopping to stand right in front of him, without touching.

“Jason,” Tim whispered. “You have never been a game to me.”

Jason froze.

“I like you,” Tim continued, his voice calm and soft. “I liked you when you’d fight by my side and then storm off in a huff, I liked you when you asked me for help on a case you’d already completed because all you really wanted was a dinner date. I liked you when you gave me shit even as you dressed my wounds.

“I like you when we cook together, and when you pace across the floor and brood, and when you bring me coffee even though I should be sleeping, and when we fall asleep on the couch after patrol and wake up all stiff and sore the next morning.”

Like the laser sights on a sniper rifle, Jason could feel Tim’s gaze settling on all the vulnerable points on his body, picking each of them out one by one.

“What makes you think I won’t like you like this?” Tim whispered.

Jason was silent.

Tim thought for a moment. “So. I am going to bed,” he decided, punctuating his words with a yawn and a long, drawn-out stretch. As he relaxed again, his hand not so subtly found Jason’s. “You coming with?” Tim asked hopefully.

Without a word, Jason followed.

~~~

This wasn’t happening.

The bedroom was quiet, and with the curtains drawn, the room was dark but for the glow of the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table.The digital face cast the room in a dimly orange light, illuminating the rumpled sheets of Jason’s bed and the sleeping form that occupied it.

Tim hadn’t been kidding then, when he’d said he was exhausted, yawning loudly as he stepped out of the room to let Jason change out of his bathrobe. He had _crashed,_ falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow - and now Jason watched, transfixed by the sight of Tim’s restful breathing as the blankets rose and fell, rose and fell, while Tim slept.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice if Jason just slept in the study.

“You just gonna stand there all night?” Tim whispered.

Jason jumped. “You’re awake,” he accused, wincing as his tentacles unsuckered themselves from his skin in surprise. He’d shoved them down the back of his pants and squeezed into a tight-fitting shirt in order to keep them from wandering as he slept, and now they’d plastered themselves uncomfortably to his legs, wriggling every so often in an unconscious attempt to escape.

This was a bad idea. This was a horrible, awful, terrible, very bad-

“Was waitin’ for you,” Tim replied sleepily. “You think I came all this way to fall asleep without you?”

Grimacing, Jason made his way to the other side of the bed, crawling in tentatively and laying down as far away from Tim as the full-sized mattress would allow. Tim, for his part, lay perfectly still, allowing Jason to move as much as he dared until he’d found a position on his side that seemed passably comfortable. The tentacles still twitched irritably, throbbing where the elastic of his pants pressed into them, but Jason swallowed tightly and ignored it.

Tim didn’t move until Jason finally settled, and when he did, it was a slow, careful motion. A single hand reached over and gently brushed Jason’s shoulder, tapping lightly until Tim found what he sought: Jason’s hand.

“Is this okay?” Tim breathed.

Jason grunted.

Tim waited.

“...yeah, it’s okay, I guess,” Jason muttered, shifting nervously to allow Tim to slip Jason’s fingers between his own. Once satisfied, Tim moved to his side as well and turned away from Jason, far enough away to give Jason his room, close enough to pull Jason’s arm around him and hold his hand close to his chest.

And despite all his worries and his fears and the occasional irate stirring of the tentacles pinned to his body, Jason found himself lulled into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

~~~

Alas, the peace was never meant to last.

Jason woke to the early morning sunshine streaming through his bedroom window, feeling better rested than he could ever remember. His dreams last night - what little he remembered of them, anyways - had been calm and reassuring. There had been a bubble bath, he remembered. With Tim. And they’d gone to bed together and fallen asleep holding hands - something so sappy only Tim could come up with it, but it had been… nice.

The memory of the dream remained as a gentle peace that lingered throughout his entire body. Relaxed and free of tension, Jason gave a satisfied sigh as he sank deeper into the warmth, the blankets tangled around his limbs, his tentacles slowly,leisurely stroking something soft and warm and...

Jason bolted upright.

His tentacles had pulled themselves free in the night and ran rampant in their freedom, sprawling out over the bed, knotting themselves into the sheets, and winding themselves around-

“ _Tim,”_ Jason choked, his voice breaking around his panic as he lurched into action, yanking off the tentacle wrapped around the younger man’s waist even as he stared in horror at the one that had slunk over his shoulder and begun to curl around Tim’s throat.

Tim’s eyes snapped open, a hiss of pain escaping his lips. The hand that still held Jason’s fingers flew to his abdomen as he turned and looked up to Jason in shock.

“Tim are-”

As Tim sat up, the ruby-colored tentacle by his throat rolled down his shoulder, held up only by… Tim’s own hand.

...He'd been holding it while he slept.

“Ow…” Tim groaned, rubbing sleepily at his waist. The pale skin had flushed, leaving a bright pink weal from his bare hip to just under his navel, and small circular welts left from the tentacle’s suckered tip. “You know, if you wanted me to let go, you could've just asked,” he grumbled. “Good grief, what time is - is that the sunrise? _Fuck…”_

Jason stared.

“Well if that's all you had to say, I'm going back to sleep,” Tim muttered.

And with that, he rolled back over and buried his head back into the pillows, Jason's fingers still in one hand, the tentacle in the other.

With his free hand, Jason grabbed Tim’s shoulder and rolled him right back.

“What?” Tim grumbled, looking back up at Jason with a spectacular pout. “Can’t you see I’m sleeping?”

Jason scowled. “Aren’t you _bothered_ by this?” he demanded. Several tentacles slapped irately against the bedspread.

"By being kept awake?” Tim retorted. “Yes."

“No, by the fact that your boyfriend is a _freak,”_ Jason snapped, punctuating the last word by whipping the tentacle free from Tim’s grasp with a harsh, lashing movement.

Tim studied Jason for a long moment. Barely moving. Saying nothing. And Jason stared right back, his expression hard and brittle like frozen steel, feeling like he’d crack at the slightest touch.

Whatever Tim would say would shatter him.

But Tim said nothing.

Instead, he sat up slowly, pulled his fingers free of Jason’s grasp, and kissed him gently on the lips. “What are you afraid of?” Tim asked quietly.

_So much._

_Too much._

Jason was silent for a long time, his fears playing out behind his eyes.

_What are you afraid of?_

Being discovered. Being scorned. Anger. Fear. Losing people.

Losing Tim.

Tim rolled over and laid back down, watching Jason with a solemn look in his eyes. “When did this start?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Can you tell me that?”

“It was… after,” Jason whispered. “After they brought me back.” Memories flashed across his consciousness, dark and searing. A pitch-black room. A metal table.

Chains.

“They thought it was the Pit. Maybe it mutated me, they thought. Maybe it was some weird energy. They ran tests. Experimented.”

Bright, blinding lights. People in white coats, white masks. Blank stares. Looks of disgust.

He could remember screaming.

They had tried, Jason remembered, to remove them - to no avail. They only grew back, the process becoming more excruciating each time. Ra’s al Ghul’s henchmen had finally let him rest when it became clear that the anesthetics were no longer working; the stress of regrowing the amputated appendages only made Jason burn through the drugs quicker. So they left him alone, and the tentacles stayed.

Until one night, they disappeared.

That had been the night he escaped.

He hadn’t expected they’d return a few weeks later, when he was living on the streets of some unfamiliar city. Or again, three weeks after that. Or again…

“-son... _Jason_.”

Jason blinked, the memories dissipating.

Tim stared up at him, his expression solemn. “You don’t have to go back to that,” Tim murmured. “Come here, Jay. Lay down with me.”

It felt as though the sky itself had been set on Jason’s shoulders. He sank wearily back into the mattress and lay down facing Tim, unsure of what to say. Instead, he watched as Tim reached across the space between them and slowly intertwined their fingers again.

“Is this okay?” Tim breathed, his eyes fixed on Jason’s face. Jason never truly realized just how attentive Tim could be. He moved as if Jason were made of glass, as if he would crack beneath the slightest pressure, yet Tim’s touches were gentle, tender. Oddly… reverent.

“Yeah,” Jason croaked. He tightened his fingers between Tim’s.

“Do you want to change the subject?” Tim asked.

“I… no,” Jason replied. “I think… I think I need this.”

Tim smiled.

~~~

They stayed like that for several hours, whispering underneath the shelter of the covers as the dawn gave way to the day. Tim learned about Jason - that he had nine tentacles, and they grew from a place along the small of his back. That every three weeks or so, they sprouted and turned Jason into a bubble-bath-lounging hermit for 24 hours or so.

Tim learned that the tentacles seemed to have a mind of their own and they often moved about without Jason noticing, expressing things that Jason tried to keep to himself. He learned that Jason could probably control them, if he thought about it, but he’d never tried all nine at once.

Jason learned that Tim possessed patience in abundance, and that while he could talk someone’s ear off about the differences in the physics behind different styles of martial arts, he could also be an attentive listener whose curiosity was bound only by the constraints of his thoughtfulness. Jason learned that Tim could read him at a glance - that those sharp eyes caught even the briefest hints of panic or the shortest sparks of pain. But he never flinched from it, nor did he rush to console or pity him. He was simply… Tim.

And that was far more than Jason could ever have hoped for.

Sometime after noon, when their conversation had turned from secrets and tentacles to current cases and talks of pancakes for lunch, Jason stiffened. He shuddered once, his eyes drifting closed, and Tim watched in amazement as the ruby-red tentacles that had sprawled over Jason’s waist and legs and the bed slowly retracted into the base of Jason’s spine. Jason lay in mute astonishment as Tim eagerly clambered on top of him to see what was happening, too fascinated to show any regard for Jason’s personal space as he watched the tentacles curl in upon themselves and shrink until they all but vanished. leaving nothing behind but a fist-sized scar.

Once they finally disappeared, Tim rolled himself off Jason to look him in the eye.

“That was _wild,_ ” Tim breathed, wide-eyed and awestruck.

Jason narrowed his eyes. “You’re a menace,” he replied.

Tim grinned. “It’s part of my charm, Jay,” he said, arching an eyebrow and giving Jason a dastardly look. “You can’t resist it.”

“You’re right. I can’t,” Jason chuckled, bewildered by the turn of the day’s events, but… heartened by them as well. And grateful, more grateful than he could ever express.

“So you might as well give in,” Tim teased, “and keep me as close as you dare.”

Jason never felt more daring in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're liking this, check out my other JayTim multichapter [Dance By Day,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7658812/chapters/17439061) a Step Up!AU featuring crime fighting by night, sexual-tension dancing by day, and a crap-ton of sass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three Weeks Later...

The next time Jason took a night off patrol, his phone began to buzz.

**Incoming Call: Birdbrain**

Jason answered with a huff. “Yes?”                         

Tim paused for a moment. "...are you in the bath?" he asked.              

Wincing, Jason looked down at the tub, his free hand on the hot-water handle, his tentacles twitching irritably. "...no."    

It wasn’t a lie. Technically he wasn’t _in_ the bath. Just near it. About to turn the water on.                                    

"I can hear your voice echoing," Tim accused.

“It’s the cell signal,” Jason tried.                     

"I'm coming over."

Jason sighed.        

~~~

When Tim arrived at Skyline twenty minutes later, he found Jason in the kitchen, his expression thoughtful as he tasted a spoonful of tomato sauce, then added more salt and pepper and continued to stir. The kitchen smelled heavenly, the warm scent of garlic and fresh bread and crushed red pepper wafting throughout the apartment.

“This isn’t the bathtub,” Tim observed, moving to stand along the other side of the kitchen island where Jason stood in front of the stove, monitoring a large pot of pasta and a smaller pot of sauce.

Jason smiled thinly, the expression failing to reach his eyes. Despite the cozy scene he’d set, stress prickled across his shoulders. Tim had been right of course, when he guessed the real reason for Jason’s night off - Jason had turned that afternoon, the arrival of the tentacles sending him into hiding for the evening.

He couldn’t hide now, however. Not with Tim leaning against the kitchen counter, right in front of him, calm as could be. Jason pressed the tentacles closer to his waist and wound them tighter around his legs, wishing the old ‘Kiss The Snook’ apron he wore could’ve been enough to hide the extra limbs from view.

“Isn’t that a type of fish?” Tim asked, nodding at Jason’s apron and grinning.

“Fish might like kisses too, Timothy,” Jason bit back. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he had implied.

Tim looked questioningly at Jason, one eyebrow arching higher. “Is that a request?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“No,” Jason retorted, grimacing. “No it isn’t.”

The pair fell silent, tension filling the space between them like thick smoke, smothering and heavy. Jason turned his attentions back to the simmering pots in front of him; Tim dropped his gaze to the dark wooden floors, his eyes following the whorls of the old wood as he struggled to find something to say.

“Hey, will you… taste this?” Jason asked after a long moment, stirring the tomato sauce briefly before scooping a little for Tim to sample.

Tim looked up. “Uh, yeah. Sure,” he replied. He straightened, then carefully made his way around the little island, giving Jason enough time to turn and keep the tentacles as far out of his sight lines as possible. When he was close enough, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, the barest hints of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he waited for Jason to offer the spoonful.

“Greedy,” Jason muttered. But he brought the spoon to Tim’s lips anyways.

“It’s… good,” Tim murmured, blinking a little and licking his lips, savoring the taste.

Jason scoffed. “You sounds surprised,” he accused.

“It’s as good as Alfred’s,” Tim replied, obviously impressed.

“That’s because it _is_ Alfred’s,” Jason chuckled. “He likes to send me home with leftovers whenever I visit. I’m just heating this up.”

“Cheater,” Tim gasped, knocking him playfully on the shoulder with the meat of his palm.

“You want to feed yourself?” Jason asked, waving the spoon at Tim. Several tentacles rose up and planted themselves on Jason’s hips, the tips curled up like fists. “That’s still a possibility.”

“No, please continue,” Tim said with a grin. “I don’t think you’d be too happy with the state of your kitchen if you let me try to cook.”

Jason snorted - and when he noticed the tentacles at his hips, he swatted them away, scowling.

“Besides,” Tim continued easily, pretending not to notice. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Unbelievable,” Jason muttered, not looking up. Moving deftly, he grabbed a pot from the stove and poured the pasta into the waiting strainer, steam billowing up from the sink as the boiling water cooled.

“I don’t have time for cooking,” Tim insisted. “Do you know how much time I’ve spent on this pharmaceuticals case, tracking down drug shipments from all over the country?”

“Sounds thrilling,” Jason teased.

“A _lot_ of time,” Tim insisted, ignoring Jason as he continued. “Honestly, if I didn’t know B suspected the company, I wouldn’t even know something’s up. It feels like I spend every waking moment either on patrol or digging around old inventory files for things that aren’t what they say they are.”

“But you have time to spend an evening wasting time with your home-bound boyfriend,” Jason pointed out grimly, pouring the pasta back into the warm pot and sprinkling it with olive oil.

Tim grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied.

Jason stilled, his expression pained.

“Hey, I just found out my boyfriend spends his nights off with a bubble bath, a good book, and cooking a la Pennyworth,” Tim said, leaning around Jason to get a better look at his face. Jason just stared down at the food on the stove.

“If you think there’s anywhere else I’d rather be than here,” Tim continued, “you clearly need to get better acquainted with my priorities.”

Jason said nothing.

“...Unless you’d prefer that I not be here?” Tim finished, his voice growing soft.

Finally, Jason met Tim’s gaze.

“No,” Jason whispered. “Please stay.”

~~~

Dinner was a quiet affair - most meals prepared by Alfred were - shared standing around the kitchen island since, like much of the rest of the apartment, the dining area had no furniture whatsoever. It was almost funny, Tim mused, how easily he had passed off Jason’s ascetic design choices as something inherent to Jason, as much a part of him as the weight of Kevlar armor or the scent of old books.

Now that Tim knew better, it was impossible for him to ignore that they were decisions made with the expectation of solitude. An expectation, he decided, he wanted to change.

He just couldn’t figure out how to go about doing that.

“Earth to Timothy,” Jason called from where he stood by the large double sink, running hot water from the faucet. Tim jumped. “You gonna keep staring off into space there, Mr. Spock, or are you going help with these dishes?”

Tim couldn’t resist a snort. “I suppose,” he replied, “since you did feed me, even if you didn’t cook.”

“Hey, I cooked,” Jason griped. “The pasta was all me - and the garlic bread!”

“And it was great,” Tim said easily, gathering the plates and silverware from the counter and carrying them to the sink, coming to stand right beside his boyfriend - the closest they’d come to touching all evening.

Jason recoiled, his hands gripping the countertop with enough force to make him ache to keep him from taking a full step away from Tim, away from everything. So close, Tim was _so_ close, yet he seemed completely unbothered, completely at ease...

...and for the life of him, Jason couldn’t figure out _why._

_He fell asleep next to you, idiot,_ Jason thought angrily to himself. _You woke up to him snuggling a tentacle. Fear is the farthest thing from his -_

“You wash, I’ll rinse?” Tim offered.

“...sure,” Jason replied.

They fell into an easy rhythm, working in the separate silence of their own thoughts. Though Tim stood close, Jason paid careful attention not to touch him, keeping as far away as he possibly could, never letting their fingers brush as he passed dish after dish to Tim - as if monstrosity was a contagion Jason could spread with a touch. It was stupid of him, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to shake the thought from his head; it needled his mind with claws of cold steel, sharp and cutting and utterly inescapable...

“Hey Jason,” Tim said suddenly.

“Hey Timothy,” Jason replied.

“Have you ever tried doing the dishes with your tentacles?”

Jason started, then stared. “I…” he paused, swallowing words he knew Tim wouldn't want to hear. “No. I haven't. Why?”

Tim looked at him, obviously stunned, though why he'd be surprised Jason couldn't fathom. He'd spent the past seven years trying to ignore he even had tentacles. Using them only reminded him of what he was.

“Well,” Tim began thoughtfully. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t be able to do _something_ \- it’s not like they’re just hanging off of you.”

Jason snorted.

“And they seem more than willing to lend a hand,” Tim pointed out, casting a pointed look down to his side. “...Or a sucker.”

Jason followed his gaze - and was horrified to discover that two of his tentacles had curiously wound themselves around Tim’s elbow and had made themselves at home, one toying with the hem of Tim’s sleeve, the other absently stroking the skin of his arm.

He hadn’t even noticed…He narrowed his eyes. Traitorous bastards. Moving quickly, Jason tried to pull away, but Tim was faster, catching hold of the tentacles with his free hand and gently examining them as he pretended that Jason hadn’t gone stone-still beside him.

“They seem fairly tactile,” Tim noted casually, reaching up and offering a clean mug to one of the tentacles that had wriggled free of Tim’s grip and started inspecting the inside of his wrist. “...and autonomous?” The scarlet tentacle, once it had apparently deemed the mug safe, began to investigate the dish, suckering itself to the handle and exploring the inside with its tip. “Are you doing this, Jay?”

Jason shook his head mutely.

Tim watched, fascinated, as the tentacle continued to explore, feeling around the inside of the mug, then the outside, until it appeared to grow bored with the mug and began to poke at Tim’s hand. It wormed through his fingers and then suckered cheerfully at his palm. When it started to curl higher around his arm, Tim plucked it from his wrist and handed the mug back. “Make yourself useful,” he scolded the tentacle.

The tentacle flailed irately in Tim’s direction. Jason made a strangled noise.

“Seven years of lazing about,” Tim mused, handing a plate to the second tentacle and snorting when it drooped and then morosely wrapped itself tighter around Tim’s arm to ignore the dish. “No manners whatsoever.”

The tentacle holding the mug suddenly shuddered and pulled back, dropping the mug, which fell to the bottom of the sink with a loud clatter. Tim jumped, startled by the suddenness of the motion and the sound.

Jason stared at some fixed point beyond the space beyond his white-knuckled hands, which gripped the countertop so tightly it looked like he was trying to crack the granite slab. He stood almost completely still, unmoving except for the tremors that shivered through him, quakes that struck the faultlines of his freedom and his fears.

The mug, Tim noticed, had cracked upon impact. Tiny, broken shards littered the bottom of the sink.

“I need to go,” Jason whispered hoarsely.

Tim nodded. “Right. I’ll just… finish up here.”

Without another word, Jason turned and left, disappearing into the room beyond the study. Tim finished the dishes and then began cleaning the kitchen in silence, doing his best to focus only on the task in front of him. The citrus scent of dish soap, crisp and fresh, in every breath. The feeling of the cooling water on his skin, the smooth ceramic under his touch.

Anything but the feeling of how the second tentacle had clung sadly to his arm before Jason had pulled away.

~~~

By the time Tim finished cleaning, the entire kitchen was spotless. The dishes were dried and all returned to their rightful places, the metal sink gleamed and the granite counters sparkled. Tim’s shoulder burned slightly from the effort of cleaning and polishing the stone slabs to a streakless shine. It was almost as if the whole night hadn’t happened.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, the sound of running water shut off suddenly.

Tim sighed.

Grabbing his jacket, Tim made his way to the study and through the door hidden in the space between the bookshelves. Jason’s room was dark, but light streamed from under the crack beneath the bathroom door and the air smelled strongly of vanilla and lavender.

Running his bath, Tim realized. He smiled sadly, then reached out to knock. “Jay?” he called quietly.

No reply. The soft sounds of splashing stopped.

“Thanks for dinner. Again. It was great,” Tim continued. “And I finished the dishes too, so. You don't need to worry about that…” Tim swallowed. “I'm... uh… I’m gonna head out, okay?”

Silence. Tim turned to go.

“...you don't have to.”

Tim paused.

“You…” Jason stopped, then started again. “You can stay, if you want.”

Tim blinked once. “...can I come in?” he asked after a moment.

Jason snorted. “I mean, if you don't want to just sit outside the door, then yeah, you can come in.”

Sighing in relief, Tim grabbed the handle and opened the door, slowly letting himself inside.

Jason was lounging in his tub, safely hidden beneath thick clouds of lavender-scented bubbles. His eyes were closed and he breathed slowly, deeply, through his nose, but even in the candlelight Tim could see the tension in the tightness of his arms and hands and in the taut cords of muscle along his neck and shoulders.

After a moment’s consideration, Tim took a few steps forward and sat down beside Jason, leaning against the outer wall of the tub.

“...I’m sorry,” Jason muttered.

“I am too,” Tim replied. “I forget how new this is for you.”

“It's…” Jason thought for a moment, struggling to find the right word. Tim felt him shrug when Jason’s forearm brushed his hair. “A lot,” Jason finished lamely.

“Is this too much?” Tim asked. When Jason was quiet, he added, “It's okay if it is - I get that this is hard for you and -”

“No,” Jason murmured. “This is okay.”

Tim smiled. “And this?” he asked, shifting so he could lean his head against Jason’s forearm.

“That's okay too,” Jason replied, trying - and failing - to stifle his own tentative grin. “Are you going to ask my permission every time you touch me?”

“I might,” Tim said wryly. “I’m definitely considering it.” All at once, he turned and propped his chin on Jason’s forearm so he could look at his boyfriend. Jason opened his eyes and stared back at him, wary and guarded and heart-breakingly unsure.

“I want you to be comfortable,” Tim said. “With this. With me. And… I honestly can’t begin to fathom how hard that might be for you, but... we can figure this out.”

Jason sighed, letting his eyes drift closed again - but even in the dim light, Tim didn’t miss the slight flush that rose to Jason’s cheeks. “If you say so,” Jason muttered.

Tim smiled. “I do,” he insisted. “And I _also_ say that you need a massage.”

Jason flinched and Tim ignored it, leaning forward and rising to his feet. Without a word, he upended the empty trashcan and placed it at the end of the tub so he could sit behind his boyfriend, careful not to touch him as he sorted through the bottles until he found the lotion. Once he had settled, he placed both palms on the edge of the tub and waited.

“Jason.”

“Tim.” Jason’s voice sounded strained.

“You seem… stressed,” Tim observed.

“No shit,” Jason bit back.

“So _tense,”_ Tim teased. He didn’t need to look to know Jason was scowling.

“Ass.”

Tim chuckled. “Let me help you with that. Can I give you a massage?”

Silence.

Tim’s smile softened. “You can say no,” he murmured.

Jason stiffened nervously, then let out a long, slow breath. “...neck and shoulders only.”

“That can be arranged,” Tim confirmed.

“Then… yeah,” Jason said. “...I’d like that.”

“Great.”

Tim worked methodically, squeezing the lotion onto his palm and warming it between his hands so it wouldn’t be cold to the touch. Once he was satisfied, he held his hands out, letting them hover over Jason’s shoulders so Jason could see them in his periphery, could prepare for the contact.

“Ready?” Tim whispered.

Slowly, Jason nodded.

Tim lowered his hands, then stilled, allowing Jason the time to get used to Tim’s touch. He’d spent all night avoiding it, Tim knew; Tim had seen every wince and recoil since the night he’d first discovered Jason’s wriggly secret, and pretending not to notice made something deep inside him ache.

Jason exhaled. His shoulders sank.

Ready as he'd ever be.

So with that, Tim got started, using his thumbs to press slow, shallow circles into the curves of Jason’s neck, feeling Jason tense momentarily and then relax into the touch.

“There we go…” Tim murmured, moving in deeper circles and then digging his palms into Jason’s shoulders and pushing down, down, down, giving a pleased sound as Jason sighed.

“You know,” Jason muttered, “if the whole vigilante thing doesn't work out for you-” he paused as Tim changed tactics and began kneading his palms into the knotted muscles along the base of Jason’s neck - “you'd make a damn good masseuse.”

“Oh yeah?” Tim asked wryly. “Where would I work?

“I'd hire you,” Jason muttered.

“Hmmm…” Tim leaned forward, then carefully pressed a light kiss onto the top of Jason’s shoulder. Jason shivered, and Tim went back to work, squeezing down the traps and the deltoid muscles and then back up again, feeling the tension slowly leave Jason’s body.

“Lean back,” Tim breathed. He reached down and grabbed the shampoo bottle and poured a little into his fingers before dipping his hand into the tub and getting enough water to work the shampoo into a lather, the scent of pine, crisp and cool, rising into the steamy air. Jason groaned softly as Tim slipped his fingers through Jason’s dark hair.

“That's right,” Tim whispered, coaxing Jason farther back as he knotted his fingers into Jason’s hair. Pleased with Jason’s contentment, Tim began to open and close his hands in star-shaped patterns, grazing his nails against Jason’s scalp as he opened his hands, massaging his fingertips into the foaming lather as he closed them. Round and round he went, washing Jason’s hair with gentle, thorough ministrations, and Jason let his head fall back into Tim’s hands, feeling more relaxed than he had in…

...longer than he could recall, actually.

“Alright, rinse,” Tim said, finally pulling his hands free and tapping Jason lightly on the top of his head. Jason obliged, taking a deep breath and then sinking down beneath the bubbles and into the water. When he came back up, water trickling down his skin in tiny, gleaming rivers, he had the odd feeling that he had left something intangible beneath the waters, that something had been washed away. He couldn't put a name to it, but as Tim’s hands returned to his shoulders and began working at his upper arms, Jason decided that whatever it was, he'd be better off without it. He readjusted himself and settled back, tentatively content with the current state of the world.

“Okay, Jay, now give me your hand,” Tim said, quickly rinsing the soap from his fingers and squeezing more lotion into his palm, rubbing it in to warm the lotion before running his hands down Jason’s shoulder, across the hard planes of his forearm, and over the ridges of his right hand. Jason watched, captivated, as Tim worked over the bones of his hand with clever fingers, worshipping every crease and scar with a reverence that left Jason speechless.

_“What makes you think I won’t like you like this?”_ Tim’s words echoed over and over in Jason’s mind, a litany of reassurance Jason didn't know he needed - a constant, unstoppable wave crashing gently against the stone walls of the fears he had carried for the past seven years. One wave would do nothing, perhaps, but a hundred waves, a thousand, rising unceasingly...

Tim huffed. Jason blinked, snapped out of his reverie.

“Rogue tentacle,” Tim whispered, pausing to pet the top of the tentacle that had reached up to carefully brush Tim’s cheek.

“Don't worry,” Jason said roughly, letting the tentacle gently cup Tim’s face. “I know.”

~~~

They stayed like that until the water got cold, after which time, Tim stood, handed a towel to Jason, and left to change into pajamas. A few minutes later, Jason followed suit, wearing sweats and his faded blue robe, and after a moment of studying the almost-sleeping form of his boyfriend in his bed, he exchanged his robe for a t-shirt and joined him.

“...Hey, Tim?” Jason whispered once he’d finally settled under the covers.

“Yeah?”

“...thanks.”

Tim smiled into his pillow.

“No problem, Jay.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Weeks Later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I promise this fic doesn't occur entirely in Jason's bathroom. *looks around guiltily* I was just bribed with glorious art from Jaykore, and BOY DID SHE DELIVER. I'm slain. So enjoy your peaceful bath time content for now... because soon there will be PLOT. 
> 
> *cackles*

Bruce Wayne, Tim mused, was the only man in the world who could make such an overly commercialized holiday this classy.

The ballroom was a tasteful tableau of rose and ruby, with the colors of the evening bold and brilliant beneath the light of crystal chandeliers. Sprays of roses adorned every white-clothed table, filling the room with their heady perfume, and champagne flowed freely - as did the primly dressed waitstaff on their carefully planned paths, distributing delicately designed sweets and chocolates to all they passed. Kings and queens of any era could never have hoped to host such an elegant event for such a cheesy occasion. Even the guests themselves seemed to shine; light glimmered off their sequined dresses and crisp silk shirts as they spoke amongst themselves or danced to the music of the string ensemble playing in the corner.

Tim bit back a pained scowl. Lovely as it was, it still drove him crazy - all the splendor and the spectacle. The scent of roses followed him everywhere, clinging to his every breath, staining his tastebuds. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the delicate, everpresent taste that reminded him too much of hand soap and potpourri.

 _And if the roses weren’t bad enough_ , he mused bitterly, eying the horde of party attendees who dogged his every step, their silken gowns and crisp suits failing to mask their curiosity over what seemed to Tim to be the most pressing question of the night…

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t see the woman who had moved in front of him until he almost crashed right into her. It took all of his finely-honed reflexes to right the champagne flute in her hand before it tipped and spilled, but she seemed not to notice - instead, her eyes lit up behind bright red frames when she realized she’d caught his attention. Her free hand came up, holding a cellphone set to record.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” she said, sounding almost gleeful. Tim barely held back a groan. “Kim Carey, reporter for Gotham Gossip.”

Tim set her flute on the nearby table and shook her hand reluctantly, knowing what would follow. “Hullo, Ms. Carey,” Tim greeted dutifully, struggling to conceal his growing vexation. “How can I help you tonight?”

“I just have a few questions Tim - can I call you Tim?” she insisted. “It’s just that everyone seems to be dying to know: What are Gotham’s most eligible bachelor’s hopes for this Valentine’s Day? Is there a lucky little lady we don’t know about yet?”

Tim sighed. “I don’t know, Ms. Carey,” he replied, his voice sounding almost mechanical. “You’d have to ask Bruce yourself.”

The reporter’s mouth fell open, and Tim took her silence as an opportunity to extricate himself from the situation as quickly and politely as he possibly could.

He didn’t get very far.

“Well if it isn’t Gotham’s most eligible bachelor,” Dick said with a grin, tossing an arm over Tim’s shoulder. “I didn’t know I’d be fortunate enough to gain an audience with such an esteemed indiv-”

“Shut up, Dick,” Tim griped.

“Ooh, testy,” Dick chuckled. “Don’t let the press hear that, wouldn’t want to besmirch your reputation.” He sighed wistfully. “I remember those days. Who knew my nerdy little brother would be the one to succeed me now that I’ve abandoned the single life for greener pastures…”

Tim responded by throwing a half-hearted strike to Dick’s ribs with an elbow, which Dick easily dodged.

“Come on, Timmy, you know we’re all _dying_ to know,” Dick teased. “Who’s the lucky girl? Or guy?” he added with an easy shrug. “You know there’s no judgment amongst Robins.”

“Lay off,” Tim snapped. “What makes you think there is someone, anyways?”

“The incriminating flush on your face, for one,” someone answered coldly. “You can’t even hide most basic of tells, Drake. It’s embarrassing to watch.”

Tim whirled, a scowl already on his face by the time he found Damian prowling up to them, derision rolling off him in waves.

“Oho, good catch Dami,” Dick said, shifting to allow Damian room to join them. “I didn’t see that.”

Damian scoffed. “How could you miss it? He’s as pink as these garish decorations.”

Dick grinned wickedly. “Which can only mean one thing…”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bit out, momentarily turning his attention to his phone, tapping out a quick text.

“Shoot, I can’t believe I didn’t know you were dating someone,” Dick muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Maybe I’m losing my touch. Who are they? How long have you been together?”

Studying Tim face for a moment, Damian focused on the phone in Tim’s hands. “Is that him?” Damian demanded.

Tim jumped back, shoving his phone into his pocket before either Damian or Dick could get a look at the screen. “You two are worse than the reporters,” he snapped.

And he brushed past them without another word.

Dick looked at Damian.

Damian looked at Dick.

“After him?” Dick suggested.

Damian grimaced. “Why would I care who Drake is fraternizing with?  I’d like to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong, thank you.”

Dick gave him a pointed look.

“...you take the front entrance,” Damian muttered. “I’ll go around the side.”

It was a good plan - the layout for the event center was fairly simple and the flurry of activity in the staff quarters would be a strong deterrent against any and all potential flight risks, even those as wiry and agile as Timothy Drake. So Dick schmoozed his way easily through the crowds of people, moving with enough hurry to ward off anyone looking for small talk and enough composure to keep anyone from worrying, and Damian made for the side exit, practically melting out of sight. If they moved fast enough, they could still make it.

Unfortunately for Dick and Damian, however, Tim seemed to be two steps ahead - figuratively and literally. The pair ran out into the misty February night just in time to see Tim shove a helmet over his head and sling a leg over the back of a jet black motorcycle - a sleek, powerful machine built for agility and speed. As they watched, Tim wrapped his arms around the waist of the motorcycle’s mysterious rider, dressed in dark leather and wearing a black helmet to mask his features. Before either Dick or Damian could call out or make a move to stop them, the rider revved the engine and sped off into the darkness, taking Tim with him and disappearing from sight.

“Son of a gun,” Dick muttered, swinging a hand through his hair. “Did you get a tracker on that bike?”

Damian shook his head. “And there were no plates, obviously. I didn’t recognize the bike either.”

“A dead end,” Dick muttered, staring off into the city after the motorcycle. “So that’s Tim’s mystery man,” he mused thoughtfully.

Damian scoffed. “I always knew he had questionable taste.”

Dick frowned. “Now be fair, we haven’t even met the guy,” he said.

“Perhaps not,” Damian muttered. “But.”

“But?”

“...he seemed familiar.”

Dick paused, trying to recollect. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He’ll tell us when he’s ready. Best not to pry.”

Behind them, someone huffed a laugh, and they both turned, startled. Neither had heard the newcomer approach - something that made complete sense when the newcomer turned out to be Cass. “Prying won’t work,” she said. “Not with our brother. He’s too careful - they both are.”

“You followed him?” Dick asked, impressed. Damian scoffed again, folding his arms across his chest.

Cass nodded. “Only once. Just to make sure he was safe. And happy.”

“And is he?” Dick pressed.

Cass smiled and nodded again. “I’d say so. But I still don’t know who it is. Whoever they are,” she said thoughtfully, “they make a good ghost.”

~~~

“Burgers are on the table,” Jason called, pulling his helmet from his head and ruffling his hair back into place before making quick work of stripping out of his riding gear.

“Oh thank God,” Tim breathed, shuffling towards the kitchen in dress-sock clad feet. “I can’t get the taste of rose-water _everything_ out of my mouth. Why do people do that to themselves?” he muttered. “Tastes like _soap_ …”  

Jason snickered, folding his jacket and setting it on top of his boots. “I thought it was the lavender macarons that tasted like soap.”

“Those too,” Tim agreed. He had already begun rifling through the bag and he took great pleasure in tearing the greasy paper from the burger he selected. After a moment of admiration, he took a big bite and let his eyes flutter shut, a quiet noise of satisfaction sounding from somewhere in his throat. Once he’d swallowed, he wiped the sauce from his mouth with a napkin and cast a grateful look towards Jason.

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best?” Tim asked, folding the napkin and setting it neatly on the table before taking another large bite.

Jason grinned. “May have mentioned it once or twice,” he said. “But I could stand to hear it more often.”

Tim smiled. He had sauce at the corner of his lip again, and a piece of cheese plastered to his teeth, but the playful expression still had Jason feeling like he could fly. Maybe gravity had left him behind. Maybe… maybe he’d read too many old love stories.

“Alright Timbers,” Jason said, “I’m gonna change out of the rest of this get-up. You finish, and meet me when you’re done.”

“Aye-aye,” Tim replied cheerfully around a mouth full of fries.

It didn’t take him long to finish the meal; after an evening of delicate hors d'oeuvres and gauzy candied treats, a fast-food burger and some heart-stopping fries were exactly what Tim needed to wash down the remnants of insubstantial elegance and the cloying taste of half-honest smiles. That may have been the world he came from, he knew, the world he grew up in, but every taste of the blunt honesty of the real world left Tim desperate for easy conversation and muttered curse-words and rough, work-callused hands and...

And burgers at the end of daring motorcycle escapes through the grungy dark heart of downtown.

All things that came naturally to one Jason Peter Todd.

Tim grinned.

Once he’d picked up after himself, Tim wandered towards the only bedroom of the safehouse at Skyline, content to savor the rich _real_ ness of it all, every exposed brick and whorl in the wood floor and warp in the lead-paned windows. He shed his fine silk button-down and his crisply pressed slacks in the study, draping them carefully over the back of his armchair, and then stood back to soak it all in. The gala was far behind him. He was here now. At Skyline. With Jason.

Jason.

_Meet me when you’re done._

The inclination to curl up in the study with a blanket and a good book, though tempting, suddenly seemed a lot less appealing, Tim noticed. The sound of shuffling from Jason’s room piqued his curiosity, and Tim followed the noise with idea after idea bouncing around in his mind, each more ridiculous than the last.

_Maybe he bought chocolates._

_Maybe he’s stolen a romantic dinner for two from Alfred’s kitchen… so we could eat it after I finished the fast food he bought? Okay, no._

_Flower petals on the bed then, and he’s waiting for - no, the bedroom is empty._

But the bathroom light was on. With nowhere left for Jason to be, Tim pushed the door open. Jason looked up as Tim entered, a smug grin on his face as he took in Tim’s astonishment at the sight that awaited him.

“Is this…”

“For you,” Jason murmured.

Candles sat perched along the windowsill, filling the room with a soft, clean scent. The bathwater had been dyed a creamy pink color and swirled merrily around the tub, propelled by the jets beneath the water’s surface, and sitting above it, on an angled stand balanced the edges of the bathtub, was Jason’s laptop, already logged onto M.A.X.’s interface, the puzzle pieces of Tim’s latest case flickering on the screen.

“I also have books,” Jason supplied. “I just know you’ve been working at this case for awhile, so I figured you might like a chance to mull it over in some peace and quiet.”

Tim swallowed around the lump in his throat. If he didn’t know anatomy better, he would’ve sworn it was his heart.

“Wha… what about you?”

Jason shrugged, a dry look flicking across his features. “I will be in my room,” he said seriously, “making no noise and pretending I do not exist.”

Tim snorted. “Don’t quote Rowling at me,” he replied. “Won’t you join me?”

Jason’s eyes looked distant. His lips pulled into a tight frown. “Not sure if tonight’s a good time for that, Timbers,” he said quietly.

“And why n-”

Tim’s mouth snapped shut as the numbers fell into place. He blinked.

 _Three weeks_.

“Oh.”

Jason’s expression grew pained.

Funny, Tim thought quietly, how things always came back here, to this place. Had it really been over a month - six weeks, to be precise - since that ill-conceived jump into this very tub? Over a month since Tim had discovered Jason’s deepest secret?

And here they were again, standing in the heart of Jason’s hidden sanctuary, tension filling the exact same spaces as they had twice before.

 _‘The definition of insanity…’_ Tim mused, recalling Einstein’s apocryphal wisdom. If he wanted them to move past this - if he wanted Jason to understand - they couldn’t keep falling into the same old steps.

He’d have to try something new.

“Join me,” Tim said quietly, ignoring the pang in his chest when he saw Jason flinch. “We don’t have to do anything else. I can work the whole time, and you can read. Or something. Just...”

_Just… be with me._

Tim swallowed again, the words he wanted to say dying silently on his tongue. “...yeah,” he finished. “Yeah.”

Jason didn’t look at him. His gaze remained pointedly down and to the left, attention fixed on a candle’s dancing flame, brow furrowed, jaw taut. Tim could almost hear the rejection, could almost feel Jason’s anger and his fear, tension shivering through the warm, steamy air. Tim was in awe of the contradiction of it all - Jason Todd, stronger even than death itself… yet so ready to shatter.

Without a word, Jason walked out of the room. The door closed with an emphatic _thud._

Tim exhaled, finally releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chest ached.

Moving slowly, Tim began to unfreeze, shaking off the tension with every measured breath. He undressed mechanically, folding each piece of clothing one by one until he stood in nothing but his boxer briefs on the cool tile floor. It would be hopeful of him to keep them on in the tub, just in case Jason returned. Maybe foolishly so. The image of Jason’s cold expression lingered in his mind.

He shucked them off.

The water, when Tim stepped in, was hot, almost too hot, but Tim sank in slowly anyways, relishing in the way it demanded his attention, forcing him to set aside all thoughts beyond the sensation of the feverish heat inching up his skin. The computer screen lit up as Tim swiped at the mousepad, and he signed into his database with a quick flourish of the keys. Jason had been right, of course: a night of relaxation was nice, but Tim would be far happier crunching numbers than lounging around listlessly in a tub. Lounging left his mind free to wander, and right now, it wanted to wander out of the bathroom and to wherever Jason might be found, wanted to...

He shook his head. The case.

The case was a delicate one, so complex and subtle even Tim wouldn't have recognized the inconsistencies for what they were if Bruce hadn't stumbled upon the crate of mislabeled pharmaceuticals while on an investigation for another case. It should've been nothing.

Tim still wasn't sure it _wasn’t_ nothing. But shipment after shipment still came in, disappearing before Tim even had a chance to track them down. Smuggled off to who knows where. The numbers weren't adding up.

And Tim didn't like it.

There had to be some point of centricity, some focus around which the entire heist revolved. There was no way such a light-fingered operation didn't have some sort of mastermind at the helm, pulling the strings. Not when pharmaceutical companies all over were getting shipments just a few crates short, but still failing to register the missing inventory. Were the companies complicit? Or were the crates being delivered after the fact… and if so, why? If only Tim could figure out what was really in those stolen cases… and _who_ was going around stealing them… he just needed to find a lead…

There was a knock at the door. Tim jumped.

“Tim?” Jason asked, his voice muffled by the door.

“Yeah?”

Jason was quiet for a moment.

“Can I come in?”

There it was again, that pang in Tim’s chest. “Of course, Jay,” he replied.

The door opened.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jason shuffled reluctantly into the room, each step tentative and cautious, like those of a cornered animal. He wore his old bathrobe again, the faded blue terry wrapped tightly around himself, and he held an old book in his hand. Just behind him, Tim thought he caught a flash of scarlet. When Jason caught Tim’s questioning glance, he froze.

Tim looked away. He heard Jason exhale shakily.

Jason’s feet stuck to the steam-dampened floor, the sound of his footsteps drawing closer as he approached and finally settled by the side of the tub, where he sat. Tim kept his gaze locked on the screen in front of him, but his focus was inescapably drawn to Jason, to the soft sounds he made as he shifted beside Tim, searching for a comfortable position, the small, indecisive movements he made as he arranged and rearranged himself, hoping to attract the least attention possible. He couldn’t know he had failed in that regard, and always had - Timothy Drake had always been fascinated by the man who now sat beside him in strained silence, and he always would be.

“Sorry,” Jason muttered, his voice low and gruff - the closest he ever came to sounding apologetic.

“It’s okay,” Tim murmured.

And with that, Tim returned to his work, fingers flying away at the keys as he picked at all the virtual puzzle pieces, looking for the way everything fit together. He could build an algorithm, he mused. Something to structure his search around. Something that could store the current data and use the past to predict the future…

But for some reason, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, one single thought demanded his attention:

Jason was right _there._ Out of the corner of his eye, Tim could see Jason’s dark hair - and that single, unruly white tuft of his - sticking up over the line of his forearm, which rested along the rim of the tub. Whenever Jason inhaled, the top of his hair would brush ever so slightly against Tim’s skin. His fingers twitched erratically on the keyboard.

He wanted to touch it.

Jason turned a page of his book.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, then turned back to the computer screen - but the numbers, he found, had lost all sense of meaning to him. He stared at them blankly, straining to remember where he had left off, but the threads of his thought process eluded him.

Jason shifted again.

The _case._ Tim breathed in deeply through his nose. He could start from the beginning again, going through the data from the top-

Something smooth and cool - and distinctly _not_ hair - nudged Tim’s elbow. Tim jumped, startled.

An adventurous tentacle had wriggled its way out of Jason’s old terry bathrobe and had begun to explore the outside world, adhering itself to the tub and cheerfully wandering along its surface. If it had noticed the distinctly un-tub-like texture of Tim’s skin, it didn’t seem to care, and continued to follow the outer wall of the bathtub until it reached the rim. Tim turned, propping his chin on his shoulder to watch the tentacle’s progress.

Noticing the sudden lack of keyboard-clacking, Jason snorted. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he murmured.

Tim made a quiet noise of dismay, turning to find Jason studying him out of the corner of his eye. His thumb marked the line in the book he had paused on. “Maybe,” Tim replied, returning his attention to the wandering tentacle. Reaching around, he placed his fingers in the tentacle’s path and smiled faintly when they began to examine the new obstacle, prodding at his fingertips with intent curiosity.

He could feel Jason staring at him.

Tim withdrew his hand and looked at Jason. He _was_ staring, so Tim stared right back, holding his ground. Candlelight did nice things to his eyes, Tim thought, wondering at the flecks of green and gold he found reflecting in the soft glow. And the humidity made Jason’s unruly hair even wilder, he mused. The tips had begun to curl, winding in every direction imaginable.

_He had to touch it._

Tim reached out and brushed a strand of Jason’s hair back into place.

Jason blinked.

“I want to kiss you,” Tim whispered.

Jason’s eyes flickered to Tim’s lips, then back up, dumbfounded.

Tim waited.

Jason nodded.

Tim shifted in the tub, his hand dipping down to tip Jason’s chin upward, coaxing him forward so he could press his lips to Jason’s mouth. Jason barely had the time to comprehend the gentle touch before Tim was pulling away again, a smile flickering at the corners of his lips. Jason stilled.

The wandering tentacle, on the other hand, did not. Adventure suddenly abandoned, it moved instead to curl around Tim’s wrist, winding between his fingers until it held Tim’s hand in its grasp, suckering gently at his skin.

“Going rogue?” Tim whispered, repeating his words from three weeks before.

Jason shook his head, hesitating briefly before leaning in to press a kiss to Tim’s open palm.

Tim’s breath caught. Something in his chest eased.

He smiled.

Leaning in, Tim moved as if to kiss Jason a second time, but instead he brushed the tip of his nose along the back of the tentacle, tracing the length of the limb from his hand to the base of his wrist. His eyes never once left Jason’s.

Jason shivered.

“The water is still warm,” Tim whispered. “Would you like to join me?”

“I…”

Jason bit his lip, his brow furrowing with indecision. It was all Tim could do to keep from brushing the stress from his face with a gentle touch.

Instead, he waited.

“I… yeah,” Jason answered, nodding once - more to himself than to the question he’d been asked, Tim thought. “I’ll just have to…”

“Go for it,” Tim replied. Pulling away from Jason, he closed the laptop and pushed the desk to the far end of the bathtub and then moved forward himself to leave a space for Jason behind him. “Whenever you’re ready,” he called over his shoulder, keeping his gaze carefully averted.

Jason stood, breathing deeply.

 _You’ve done this before,_ he reminded himself, peeling the robe from over his shoulders and coaxing the fabric out from around the tentacles at his back. Granted, that one time together in the bath had been one of the most heart-stopping, mortifying experiences of his second life, but _still._

He fidgeted briefly with the fabric of his shirt, then removed that as well.

 _It would be okay_ , he thought. Tim had been nothing but reassuring, Tim had _asked_ him and _meant_ it - at least, Jason hoped. Six weeks was a long time to keep up a lie, but not an impossible one. Jason had lived lies every day for _months_ when he’d gone undercover for missions, or when he’d been hiding out after his return. But this was different. Tim couldn’t have faked that look in his eyes.

It _had_ to be different. It would be okay.

Pants now in a heap on the bathroom tile, Jason picked at the hem of his boxer-briefs, then decided to leave them on. One step at a time. Just one step at a time. He could let himself have this.

...he _would_ let himself have this.

Now exposed, Jason turned back to the tub.

Tim hadn’t moved. There he sat, his back still to Jason, leaving ample room for Jason to step in behind him. An invitation.

He held his breath for a long moment, then released it.

Carefully, Jason took a step forward, then another, focusing on the sight of the pale pink water swirling round and round the bathtub, following the eddies of the tiny whirlpools with his eyes. Pretending Tim wasn’t there. Reminding himself that Tim wanted him there, that Tim had _asked_ him to be there. He could do this.

His hands settled on the warm stone rim. They were steady, despite the churning of his stomach and the heavy throbbing of his pulse; they helped brace him as he swung one leg over the edge. Then the other.

Tim made a pleased sound, but remained perfectly still.

Another breath, and Jason lowered himself into the water, arranging himself so most of the tentacles - troublemakers that they were - were pinned against the stone behind his back, and what didn’t fit behind him were restrained under his arms or legs. Once he had ascertained that all his extra appendages had been accounted for, he sat back, tense and uncertain. “Okay,” he muttered, more to himself than to Tim. “I’m in.”

And he was.

Tim hummed happily. “You’re in,” he agreed, still pointedly facing forward. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jason replied, aiming his greeting to the back of Tim’s head. He hadn’t fully submerged, Jason noted absently. His dark hair was only wet at the tips, but water had still beaded across the curve of his neck and shoulders. Jason followed the trailing droplets with his eyes, drawing constellations across Tim’s skin in his mind. In the warm glow of the room, the droplets glittered like tiny stars that had fallen from the heavens and now were close enough to touch...

 _I_ can _touch him_ , Jason realized. It would be okay.

The water splashed quietly as Jason stretched forward hesitantly with one hand, reaching for Tim but at the last second, stopping short.

“Tim,” Jason whispered.

“Yeah?” Tim shifted. The water stirred.

“...can I touch you?”

“Of course.”

The sound of the smile in his voice was unmistakeable.  

_This is okay._

Jason placed his palm on the top of Tim’s shoulder, his heart clenching when Tim neither flinched nor pulled away. Instead, Tim leaned into the touched, turning his head so he could brush his lips to Jason’s fingertips.

_More than okay._

“Is it alright if sit with you?” Tim murmured, breathing the words over Jason’s fingers.

“...yeah,” Jason replied. “I’d like that.”

Tim rocked backwards and Jason caught his waist with his other hand, guiding Tim in until he rested between Jason’s legs. The movement sent small waves rolling through the water, lapping at the edges of the tub and against their skin, the water’s warmth surrounding them as Tim settled tentatively against Jason’s chest.

 _This… this was good,_ Jason thought to himself. He could do this. He _was_ doing this.

He smiled. Just a little bit.

“This is more comfortable than the stone,” Tim teased, relaxing further into Jason’s grasp. “Should’ve done this from the start.”

Jason chuckled quietly. “Noted,” he replied.

_He wants me here._

Breath hitched, Jason wrapped his arms around Tim, holding him loosely, and then, in a sudden rush of willpower, added a tentacle as well.

“Well, hello there,” Tim exclaimed, surprised - but pleasantly so. Before Jason could withdraw the limb, Tim reached up to touch it, stroking it gently with his thumb.

“This is okay, right?” Jason murmured, holding the appendage painstakingly still.

“It is,” Tim replied without hesitation.

Jason swallowed, then let a second tentacle free, allowing it to wander along the underside of Tim’s arm, then up and around his shoulder as it pleased.  “...and this?” he pressed.

“Jason,” Tim said, turning to look him in the eye. His smiled softly. “It’s perfect.”

_Perfect._

Jason unwound, letting out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. This was okay - was _beyond_ okay. The tentacles continued to curl and coil around Tim’s sides - Jason could feel goosebumps rising on Tim’s skin under their touch, despite the water’s heat. A good sign? A bad sign?

Tim only shuffled closer, coaxing the tentacles he could reach to wrap gently around his waist as he relaxed against Jason’s chest. His hand brushed the back of a tentacle draped over him, the touch of his fingers sliding back and forth, back and forth.

“Perfect,” he breathed again, quieter, as he let his head rest against the hollow beneath Jason’s shoulder.

Jason couldn’t help it. He smiled.

 

 

They lay together in silence for what felt like a small eternity, the warmth of the bath and the stir of the water and the hush of the candlelit room lulling them into a gentle daze. Beyond their little haven, the city was nothing more than dark shadows and blurred lights outside the frosted windowpanes, silhouetted by the sinking sun. Jason could feel Tim breathing against him, in and out, in and out, and somewhere beneath that, the peaceful rhythm of his heartbeat, calm and sure. The world was quiet. The world was at ease.

“Hey, Jason?”

Jason perked up, surprised to find himself drowsy now that his earlier apprehensions had quieted. He fought back a yawn. “Hmm. Yeah Tim?” he mumbled softly.

“Thank you. For this. And everything.” _For being here with me_.

Jason pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey. Timothy.” Jason whispered against Tim’s hair. Tim shivered.

“Yes, Jay?”

“Happy Valentines Day.”

Tim smiled.

“Happy Valentines Day to you too, Jay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the 2017 JayTim Week: Valentine's Day Edition. Hope you enjoyed! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: God bless Tank Oregano.
> 
> ...do I even have to say it? Three Weeks Later.

 

From so high above, the only sound Tim could hear was the cry of the wind and the faint wail of the sirens from somewhere far, far below him. Cold wind snapped at his cape as he stared out into the darkness, demanding answers to the questions that prowled just outside the edges of his reach, elusive as ever. Somewhere above him the stars hung overhead, hidden by the thick veils of smog. 

Such was Gotham. 

“M.A.X.,” Tim murmured into the comm link. The wind snatched away the word as soon as he spoke it, but the tiny microphone pressed against his jaw picked him up loud and clear. An electronic monitor sprung to life on the gauntlet along the inside of his wrist. “Show me the numbers again.”

“Calculating...” the electronic voice replied. Almost immediately, numbers began to scroll across the screen of his monitor, whizzing past at the speed of Tim’s comprehension. Tim had seen them all before, seen them what felt like a hundred times before - but he still couldn’t stop himself from briefly appreciating the beautiful simplicity of the sight: the ledgers of every shipping company in the city, reduced to a series of numbers and figures via an algorithm of Tim’s own devising. Weeks of work, hours upon hours of data compilation. The mastermind behind this operation was smart.

Tim was smarter.

“If I were a shipment of illegal drugs,” Tim muttered to himself, considering each and every set of numbers as quickly as they appeared on the screen, “...where would I hide?”

“As far away from  _ you _ as possible,” a voice answered wryly, as something - some _ one _ \- strong and solid pressed up against Tim’s back, throwing a shadow over Tim’s monitor and jolting Tim into action. 

_Heel to instep_ , _elbow to solar plexus,_ _head to_ \- Tim let out a pained grunt as the back of his head smacked into something cold and metallic, but the impact, however lessened, still stunned his attacker enough to allow Tim to whip around and continue the barrage - 

Arms wrapped around Tim and pulled him in tight, drowning him in the familiar scent of propellant and old leather and -  _ oh. _

Jason chuckled quietly as Tim went limp, breathless and riding high on the adrenaline still singing through his veins. “Hello to you too, babybird,” he murmured, his voice low and even and rich with amusement. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” Tim muttered.

Jason huffed out a laugh and reached up and around Tim to press the release catch on his helmet. It dropped to the rooftop with a dull ‘clunk.’ “With all that training and crazy tech, I thought for sure it’d be impossible to sneak up on you,” Jason taunted. “Are you losing your touch?”

“Shut up,” Tim grumbled, even as the sound of his proximity alarm  _ finally _ broke through to his awareness. It must’ve been going off since the moment Jason had stepped into range... he’d just been so focused on - 

“Hell,” Tim groaned, pulling out of Jason’s grasp so he could see the monitor on his gauntlet. Sure enough, the screen had gone dark, the computer shutting down as soon as the built in motion sensors had triggered at the start of the fight. He’d have to look into programming some sort of autosave function -  _ after _ going through all those numbers again…

A gloved knuckle tipped his chin up gently, bringing Tim to meet Jason’s gaze. “Problems?” Jason asked quietly.

Tim sighed and, after another moment’s thought, pushed his cowl back. Dark hair fell around his temples in wild, sweat-drenched waves. “No,” he replied. “Just some numbers that need to be re-crunched… or, something, I don’t know. I know they’re there, Jay. The shipments. It just isn’t adding up and -”

Jason cut him off with a kiss. Tim blinked, startled. He looked quizzically up at Jason, his train of thought derailed. Jason grinned.

“You’re cute when you’re thinking,” Jason murmured, eyes gleaming playfully. His hands dropped low on Tim’s waist, pulling him in closer, and Tim gasped, stunned by the sudden contact, by the sudden closeness, by the  _ suddenness _ of Jason reaching upward, brushing his cheekbone with a gloved thumb before pushing the damp hair from Tim’s face. “Less this,” Jason whispered, pressing a light kiss to Tim’s temple, just above the corner of the black domino mask, “and more this,” he finished, before leaning down and capturing Tim’s lips in an earnest kiss.

Before Jason could pull himself away, Tim pressed forward and kissed  _ back _ , the spark of Jason’s fearless kisses conjuring up memories from a time before things had gotten complicated. Before the slightest touch could set off landmines - before Tim had walked in, quite literally, on Jason’s biggest secret. It happened without the slightest thought - Tim drowned in what Jason freely gave, soaking in every touch, every kiss, like a water-starved man in a mountain spring.

He had  _ missed  _ this.

Far below, sirens began to wail. Not a moment later, Tim’s comm link crackled to life in his ear, the harsh, gravelly voice of the big bat himself putting a call for back-up to get on the chase. Bank robbery. Police in pursuit. Tim sighed.

Again, such was Gotham.

“I got it,” Jason said easily, a pleased grin stretched across his face. “You keep hunting down your missing shipments, or whatever it is you’re doing with that big birdbrain of yours. I know you’ll find it.”

Tim smiled faintly.

Jason chuckled, reading Tim’s face immediately. “I know, Timbers,” he murmured. “Me too.”

Tim huffed in agreement, pulling his cowl back over his head. “Duty calls,” he replied stoically, watching Jason bend down to pick up his helmet. “And we must answer.”

Jason straightened, smiling wryly, something dangerous and beautiful flashing in those too-blue eyes. Before Tim could even register the look, Jason had stepped into his space, moving so swiftly Tim barely had the chance to react before Jason was all he could see, hear, and feel. A hand brushed along his jaw, lifting his chin so Jason could pull Tim into a scorching kiss that left Tim’s knees weak and his very  _ soul _ hungry.

“Don’t sound so glum, Red,” Jason murmured. Tim tasted the words on his lips. “We may have a little work to do right now but… there’s always the rest of the night.”

And with nothing more than a wicked-looking grin and a jaunty salute, Jason stepped easily over the edge of the rooftop and went soaring off into the darkness, leaving Tim, unsteady and breathless, staring after him on the rooftop.

The end of patrol couldn't come fast enough. 

~~~

When Tim returned to his safehouse - a one bedroom affair on the outskirts of the city - Jason’s boots sat neatly by the doorway.

A little further away, Jason’s jacket had been slung over the back of a chair, his helmet abandoned on the kitchen table next to a half-finished glass of water, beaded with condensation. A fresh towel hung from the rack by the sink, its predecessor probably sitting on top of the laundry pile, smudged with the last traces of the night’s work from Jason’s hands.Tim read Jason’s progression through the space the way a sailor read the stars, finding an irrepressible sort of joy in recognizing the constellations of Jason’s comfort.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, he could hear footsteps. 

Tim moved methodically through his apartment, working through his paces as if he were on his own. Boots by the door. Gear in the safe. Mask and cowl in the containment unit, followed by his suit, stripped from him piece by piece, placed carefully side by side and locked away for cleaning and safe-keeping. Padding into the kitchen, now dressed only in compression shorts and his damp t-shirt, he finished the glass of water on the table, focusing on the sensation of cold glass against his palm, of the icy water pooling in his core. 

They were not in the same place they’d been before he had discovered Jason’s secret, Tim reminded himself. Memories burned under his skin, tantalizing and unreachable. He shook them from his head. What happened on the rooftop was just one more memory from a time when they could touch without worry… without panic. Without fear. 

This wasn’t that time.

_ “There’s always the rest of the night. _ ’

Tim breathed deeply, and pushed the words aside. Once steadied, he made for his bedroom.

The rest of Jason’s gear lay in heaps along the path to Tim’s room, and Jason, Jason stood in the shadows by Tim’s bed, silhouetted by the warm light from the ensuite bathroom, his back to Tim. He worked a black shirt over with his hands, turning it right side in; a pair of old sweat pants hung low on his hips.

Tim stilled.

“See something you like?” Jason asked quietly, not turning around.

The memory hit Tim like an oncoming train.

_ Jason, tired and warm and sated, lay face down on the mattress with Tim settled on his hips. _

He breathed deeply. Everything felt too warm.

_ Tim’s hands ghosted over the lattice of silvered scars etched into Jason’s skin. As he explored, Jason shivered under the touch of the lazy, errant kisses that left a trail of blue forget-me-nots blossoming in their wake, spilling over the crests of Jason’s shoulders and tumbling into the shallow pools at the small of his back...  _

Tim blinked, the memory falling away but the sudden need almost impossible to ignore. Jason was studying him, his gaze terribly, terribly sharp, cutting like a knife through the thin veil of Tim’s unraveling composure.

“I'm going to go out on a limb,” Jason murmured, taking a slow, careful step towards Tim, “and guess that that hungry stare of yours means ‘yes.’”

He’d barely choked out his assent before Jason lunged for him, crossing the room in two quick strides and catching Tim’s lips in a searing kiss. Tim gasped, Jason’s need sweeping over him like a hurricane, hard and fast and overwhelming and perfectly, utterly inescapable.

Tim staggered back, falling against the doorframe, and Jason followed, his hands finding Tim’s waist, his shirt dropping to the floor. Tim knotted his fingers in the fabric at Jason’s hips, his hands shaking, his knuckles white. His eyes shuttered closed as the kiss deepened, and he returned it with a ferocity that matched Jason's own.

Jason pulled back and Tim stared. In the dim light, Jason’s eyes were dying stars, dark and insatiable, and he took a long moment to drink in the sight before leaning down and resting his forehead against Tim’s. 

“ _ Tim _ …”

His voice had already gone low and husky, and Tim almost laughed. Had he really been so worried? Now here his lover stood, triumphant in his glory - bold, confident…

Fearless.

Jason, like this, was a force of nature. 

Tim stood tall and pressed his mouth to Jason’s firmly before whispering against his lips, “Don’t stop.”

Jason’s fingers twitched against Tim’s sides.

“Whatever you want…” Tim breathed, “I want it too.” 

Jason shuddered.

_ “Please.”  _

And then Jason was  _ everywhere _ , crowding Tim against the wall, his thighs pressed up against Tim’s hips, his warm hands tracing scorching trails against the skin of Tim’s waist, his mouth leaving fiery kisses anywhere he could reach. Tim melted beneath Jason’s touch, breathing heavily.

Jason ran his hands up Tim’s chest and over his shoulders until he could thread his fingers into Tim’s hair, earning a quiet moan as he tugged lightly, pulling Tim’s head to the side. He leaned downward, planting open mouthed kisses along Tim’s neck and nipping gently towards Tim’s ear. Tim shivered as Jason’s breath puffed gently across his skin, his voice coming out in a heated whisper.

“Tell me what you want. Tim. Tell me what you need me to do for you.”

“Anything. Everything - Jason. Anything you want.”

Jason slipped his hands up under the fabric of Tim’s shirt, his fingers ghosting across Tim’s ribs and the planes of his stomach. Tim raised his arms in silent acquiescence, his eyes catching Jason’s gaze as he moved to slip the shirt from his frame. Goosebumps prickled across his skin - but Tim had no way of knowing whether they were from the cold or the sharp need he found waiting on Jason’s face.

“God…  _ Tim.”  _

Tim short-circuited.

Tim thrust his hips forward, pressing his body to Jason’s with a low groan and pulling him down into a fierce kiss. His hands grabbed at anything he could reach, one winding into Jason’s hair, the other clutching to the planes of Jason’s back and leaving ghostly red lines behind when he failed to find purchase.

Jason leaned into the kiss, eager and hungry, before nudging Tim’s head back so he could trail heated kisses along his jaw and back down the column of his throat. Hot hands brushed reverently over Tim’s backside and caught the underside of his thighs, lifting him easily and pinning him bodily to the wall. 

With a low, needy whine, Tim wound his legs around Jason’s waist, pulling him closer. 

Jason growled, heat curling down his spine. Tim was the stimulus to his every sense, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, his calves slung low and tight around Jason’s hips, chest rising and falling with each broken, ragged exhale, his breath clouding the spaces between them. The scent of sweat mingled with the clean fragrance of Tim’s shampoo, faint sounds fell from his lips after every kiss, his taste lingered on Jason’s tongue...

And wasn’t he a sight to behold.

Jason leaned back, savoring the sight of Tim, skin flushed and lips parted, his hooded eyes as glittering and ravenous as the wine-dark sea. Jason could map the trails of his kisses, wet and rubied against Tim’s pale skin - so many paths already taken, so many roads less travelled by - and already Tim was craving more, breathless whispers pleading, pleading, spilling thoughtlessly from kiss-kindled lips.

And Jason had done this. Satisfaction thrummed through him at the thought, rich and intoxicating.

“It’s been too long since I had you like this,” Jason whispered, his lips at Tim’s throat. Tim moaned, using his legs to pull Jason in tighter, until all Jason could focus on was the heat building up between their bodies like a firestorm, the heat coiling low in his core, the  _ heat  _ flashing down his spine like he was about to ignite with -  _ with -  _

Jason hissed, recoiling as if burned, his hands flying to his temples in panic as he spat a vicious curse. Tim let out a yelp, dropping to the floor as Jason jerked away and fled to the bathroom, gone in an instant. The door slammed shut. 

A glimpse of scarlet was Tim’s only explanation.

Leaning against the wall, he let his eyes drift shut, aching at the sudden absence.

After a moment of silence, Tim clicked the microphone on his watch. “M.A.X.,” he whispered hoarsely. “Bring up those pictures of Damian at the costume party. I need to clear my head, stat.”

~~~

A small eternity passed before Tim felt ready to move again. 

Planting both palms on the cool floor, he rose slowly to his feet, his tailbone twinging from how he’d landed as he wandered slowly towards the ensuite. The door to the bathroom shuddered quietly as Tim leaned up against it, pressing his ear to the smooth wood. “Jay,” he muttered, knowing Jason heard everything - probably, “I’m coming in now.”

“...fine.”

Tim opened the door and peered inside, pained - but unsurprised - to find Jason sitting on the floor beneath the standing sink, crammed into the only corner he could reach. Tentacles spilled forth wherever they had freedom to, squeezing out from behind him to curl across his lap or around his arms or over his shoulders, framing him in a tangle of scarlet. His eyes were closed.

“Wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” Jason croaked.

“Of course I’m still here,” Tim replied. “It’s my apartment.” 

_ You’re here. _

Moving carefully, Tim shuffled fully into the tiny bathroom, before choosing a spot along the wall and sliding down to sit beside Jason. The cold of the tile floor immediately seeped into his skin, making him shiver. He tucked his knees up towards his chest.

“I can’t leave,” Jason whispered.

“I know.” 

After a moment’s consideration, Tim added, “Do you need me to bring you anything?”

“...no, I’m fine,” Jason replied. “...thanks though.”

“You got it,” Tim said quietly.

They sat together in silence for a long, long time, both unsure of what to say. The only sound in the room was the unsteady  _ drip, drip, drip  _ of the leaky faucet above their heads, and Jason’s occasional, wearied sighs. Tim found himself suddenly grateful that his vigilante skills did not include telepathy - he got the distinct impression that Jason’s thoughts, if he could hear them, would be deafening.

And not at all kind.

Ignoring the pang in his chest at the thought, Tim reached out and covered Jason’s hand in his.

“Did you just lose track of the time?” Tim murmured.

Jason exhaled slowly, then shook his head. “No… no. I knew it’d be soon. Maybe not this soon, I guess… I just…” He huffed - almost a laugh. “I was with you,” he finished. “I forgot the rest.”

“Whose words are those?” Tim murmured.

“Whitman’s,” Jason replied. Then he sighed. “Tim, I’m-”

“No. Don’t be.”

“I dropped you.”

“You were taken off guard. They kinda ambushed you.”

“Did I hurt you?”

Tim snorted. “I’ve had worse. And they weren’t ever nice enough to kiss me first.”

Jason pulled a face. “Would you have  _ wanted _ them to kiss you?”

“Oh, gross,” Tim huffed. “Good point.”

Jason chuckled half-heartedly, then let his head fall against the crook of Tim’s neck. Tim hummed in response, twisting Jason’s hand over in his and winding their fingers together loosely. 

“Geez, Tim, you’re freezing,” Jason hissed quietly. Reaching across his lap, he wrapped his free hand around their entwined grasp.

Tim just shrugged. “It’s cold,” he replied. “We’re sitting on the bathroom floor.”

Jason considered for a second, then hesitantly allowed a few tentacles to drape around Tim’s legs, like a makeshift blanket. They were surprisingly warm, Tim noted, using a hand to tuck them tighter around himself. Once satisfied, he sighed happily into the touch.

“...I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Jason whispered.

“You sure?” Tim asked. He ran a thumb over Jason’s finger, musing. “I think you’ve been doing great.”

Jason burrowed his face into Tim’s shoulder, his breath warm against Tim’s skin. “You sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell?”

“I’m not concussed, Jay,” Tim said with a snort. “My faculties are all intact.”

“Except the ones that are supposed to make you want to run away screaming at the sight of tentacled mutants,” Jason retorted. “Self preservation, or what have you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tim replied, petting the tentacles absently. “I like them. I thought I’ve been making that pretty clear.”

“ _ You’re _ ridiculous,” Jason grumbled.

Tim kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go to bed, Jay,” he said murmured. “Things will be better tomorrow.”

“...okay.”

~~~

Morning came and went and the tentacles still made no sign of leaving, keeping Jason cooped up in Tim’s little apartment well into the afternoon.

And Jason  _ hated _ being cooped up.

“I can’t believe you, Drake,” he huffed, pacing around the spartan living room in dismay. “Not a single book in this entire place.”

Tim didn’t look up from his computer screen, his eyes glued to the lines of code he sifted through, trying to find the error. Knowing him, it was probably a misplaced colon somewhere… he tapped the arrow key angrily. “I already told you. Books are at my other safehouses, and my apartment. This is just a place to crash.” And suffer through computer programming. “If you don’t want me to go grab one for you, why don’t you download one.”

Jason’s eyes flashed. “Take that back.”

“Fine, fine, stick to the twentieth century where you belong,” Tim muttered. “Not all of us get high off the scent of lignin and old paper.”

“I can’t believe you just said that to my face,” Jason gasped, affronted.

“Technically, I didn’t,” he replied, a grin playing at the corners of his lips as he typed. “But I could.”

Jason snorted. “No you couldn’t,” he teased. “You’re what, five-foot five?”

“Five-foot five and three-quarters,” Tim grumbled, “And what does that matter? I could get you to kneel.”

Jason’s pacing paused. “You really think so?” he asked slyly.

“In a fair fight? I  _ know _ so.”

“...prove it.”

Tim looked up. “You can’t possibly be that bored,”

“You couldn’t  _ possibly _ get me on my knees,” Jason challenged.

“What will the neighbors think?”

“Nothing they don’t think about you already,” he said with a grin. They hadn’t exactly been the quietest of lovers in the past.

“Really Jay? Here?”

“Got any better ideas?”

Tim didn’t. He closed his laptop and stood up. “If you put a hole in my wall, you’re paying the repair fees.”

Jason lifted the coffee table and propped it up against the far wall. “Don't pretend you're not dying to know what I'm capable of when I'm like this, birdbrain, I can already see the gears churning in your head.”

Tim grinned. “Perhaps. Don't you want to know?”

Jason was silent. It was all the answer Tim needed. 

The space, while still small, was open enough to allow some decent sparring, if they kept things tame. A pretty big If, Tim conceded, but it was worth a shot. “Have you ever done anything like this?” Tim prompted. 

“And who, exactly, would I have sparred with?” Jason asked.

“...right,” Tim admitted, pushing the sofa towards the entryway, leaving the living space mostly empty. “Well. It'll be a learning experience for both of us.”

Jason didn’t seem quite as enthused.

When the area had been cleared, Tim and Jason spaced themselves apart, giving themselves ample room to maneuver. The apartment was too small for anything extravagant - no room for running leaps or spinning kicks, and Tim’s  _ bo _ staff was off-limits too - but if they stayed in control, they could exchange a volley of blows, or grapple on the ground if it came to that.

“If it’s alright with you,” Tim suggested, eying Jason speculatively, “I’d like to test your reflexes first.”

“My reflexes are great,” Jason muttered.

“I meant  _ theirs,”  _ Tim retorted, nodding once to the knot of tentacles Jason had hesitantly freed from the containment of the athletic shirt he’d borrowed from Tim’s dresser that morning. Now he was shirtless, and the bright red appendages hovered tentatively over his shoulders and on either side of his waist, keeping close to his body. “I’m going to throw a few punches at you. I want you to use the tentacles to block them. Can you do that for me?”

“...sure, whatever.”

Tim started slowly, reaching out towards Jason’s middle, impossible to miss, and Jason retaliated with just as much care, extending a single tentacle to block the hand with a look of fierce concentration on his face. He’d barely tapped Tim’s hand away before Tim retracted, winding up for the next attack.

The next hit was just as easy to anticipate, moving like an arrow down the line of attack, and Jason batted it away, stronger this time. He blinked, stunned.

“Different tentacles,” Tim commanded.

Jason glowered.

More strikes, faster now. Open-handed, and more like slaps than punches, but Jason reacted to every one, deflecting Tim’s thrusts - or trying to. Those Jason missed landed softly on his arms and chest, pulled split seconds before impact so as not to really hurt.

“You don’t need to do that,” Jason said with a huff.

“Humor me,” Tim replied.

Jason’s eyes narrowed.

Faster. Tim moved faster, circling around Jason and aiming strikes at his sides and his back, ducking to swat at his knees and calves. Jason stayed rooted in place, his brow furrowed heavily as he focused on actions and reactions he had never fully explored. It was  _ hard,  _ he realized, having to go off of sound and touch alone as Tim wove in and out of his sightlines. More than once, he caught himself extending unconsciously, reaching out with unused tentacles just to establish some sense of where Tim would be and when. Without them, he was at Tim’s mercy, hits landing from every direction.

Never before had Jason needed to  _ rely _ on them.

He scowled.

“Alright,” Tim said from behind him, just a hint out of breath. He knocked two tentacles from their path before Jason could gather up enough of himself to stop. “Now try to hit me too.”

That, Jason found, was easier. Much easier. Accuracy, a precious commodity in a two-handed fight, didn’t mean nearly as much when Jason had nine arms to lash out with. Micromanaging every movement was nearly impossible, but if he let them be and focused on establishing a better sense of the fight, he realized it really wasn’t… necessary. All he had to do was  _ move _ and he’d hit Tim - and once he’d found a target, Jason could pummel Tim until he managed to retreat. Defense was still a challenge, one that cost sharp slaps to his bare skin when he failed, but Tim’s strikes seemed to be landing less and less as the tentacle’s free-for-all offensive drove him farther from Jason’s body.

_ Offense as the best defense, _ Jason mused.  _ Now there’s a tactic I can roll with. _

With a wild growl, Jason pivoted, focusing on Tim immediately and bearing down with all he had, landing blow after blow with a series of wet-sounding smacks. Tim’s eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t let the sudden change phase him - he leapt to the side and and tucked into a roll before throwing himself across the room to attack Jason’s exposed flank. Before Jason could turn on Tim again, Tim ducked around and struck out again, landing a smack on Jason’s thigh and another on his hip before twisting to dodge Jason’s belated answering attack.

_ He’s fast, _ Jason realized, cursing himself mentally at the same time. As one of the smallest Robins in the big bat’s arsenal, Tim made up for his lack of power with an agility that rivalled even Dick Grayson’s and a speed that was practically second to none - and a mind that was, impossibly, faster. Even normally, Jason couldn’t hope to keep up with Tim, but now, burdened with the weight of nine extra limbs, he didn’t stand a chance.

Unless…

Jason lunged, finally breaking out of the single position he’d maintained for the duration of the practice, but instead of stepping towards Tim - a move Tim would’ve expected - he stepped in the opposite direction, swiveling as he did so to allow the tentacles to snap around and target Tim all at once, flying at him like a shower of throwing knives. He heard Tim gasp, his feet skidding across the battered wood floor to avoid the sudden onslaught.

It almost worked.

A sharp, thin pain sliced along Jason’s calf, and before he knew what had happened he was falling, an errant tentacle having snaked its way between his legs as he had stepped, effectively hobbling him. His knees buckled, hitting the floor before his attack could even land. He cursed.

Tim recovered first.

“What was that?” he asked, righting himself and walking over to Jason, sounding thoroughly winded.

“Tripped,” Jason muttered. He sat, ignoring the protests of his soon-to-be-bruised knees, in order to inspect the source of the pain that had caught him so off-guard. 

A bright red cut stretched across his calf, straight as an arrow and paper thin. It was shallow and remarkably clean - Jason had seen sloppier cuts from batarangs and  _ shuriken _ .

But what had cut him? Tim had been unarmed...

He turned his attentions to the tentacles. Most of them - eight, he could see now - had gone to target Tim as he had intended, and they appeared, for all intents and purposes, as normal as mutant tentacles ever could.

The one caught between his legs, however, was different. The back looked practically the same, the insensitive surface still as smooth as before, if not a little darker, but the sides, he noticed, had flattened into a narrow edge, finely-honed and razor sharp. 

In the seven years since he’d been resurrected, he’d never seen this happen before. It was unorthodox, sure, but it was undoubtedly, undeniably... a weapon. Hidden from him for all this time. 

Even as he watched, the appendage relaxed, returning to its usually, rounded form.

...what other abilities did they have?

Jason stared at the limb. His hands shook.

Just... how much of a monster  _ was _ he?

“That… was…” Tim began, bracing his hands on his knees, “Incredible,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.” He didn’t seem to notice the wound, and Jason felt the sudden urge to keep it that way. 

“Great,” Jason said. He shifted, tossing the errant tentacle with the rest and covering the scratch with the other leg.

“Think we could go again?” Tim asked. “I just need a little water break and then I could definitely go for another match.”

“No,” Jason replied. His voice sounded off.

“But Jason _ , _ ” Tim pressed, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow. “Do you realize what we’ve discovered here? Sure, you’re out of practice and your timing and balance is a bit off, but you’re still just as good a fighter as you’ve always been. I bet with a little work,” he said thoughtfully, “you could really pack a punch like this, Jay. Maybe even on patrol.”

_ “No. _ ”

The word was a hiss, the vicious crack of a single gunshot, angry and steeled and sharp. Tim turned.

Jason stood slowly, staring at the ground as if he could set fire to the floorboards. His hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists. 

“This isn’t a  _ game, _ ” Jason hissed, spitting the word like a curse. “This isn’t some sort of experiment, to see how much I can do or how far I can stretch. You don’t even know what I’m capable of; neither of us do.”

Tim was silent.

“I will  _ not _ be going out there like this - I refuse. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Tim said quietly. “I understand.”

Without another word, Jason stalked from the room, disappearing into the bedroom.

The door slammed shut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We were together. I forget the rest.” -- Walt Whitman
> 
> :'3 I'll make it better soon, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I lied.
> 
> Content Warning: Blood, Stitches, Hurt/Comfort
> 
> Two-and-a-Half Weeks Later…

Mentioning the case to Bruce had been a bad idea.

Tim peered around the corner of the building, watching the security camera swivel slowly around the area as he stayed carefully out of sight. His lips moved silently, counting the passing seconds as the camera swept back and forth, trying to time his action window.

He’d only get one shot. If he got caught on this camera, Oracle would know that Red Robin was out on patrol _alone._ Against Batman’s specific instructions.

Because they were ridiculous instructions.

Watching the camera swivel around again, Tim made his move, skirting around the camera’s range of view and ducking around the next corner. Once he was back out of sight, he tapped the monitor on the inside of his wrist on, waiting for any change in Oracle’s communication relay. Waiting for her to access the camera’s footage. Waiting for her voice to cut through the comms and alert Bruce. Tim held his breath.

Nothing.

Tim exhaled.

None of this would be necessary if he'd just kept his big mouth shut. Leave it to Bruce to take “one heck of a mastermind,” and blow it way out of proportion. Tim would have _known_ if his case was the machination of some wealthy shmuck with money to throw at good mercenaries, or even worse, someone like the Owls. He knew what he was doing. Putting a stop on solo patrols and forbidding independent investigations was entirely unnecessary and deeply frustrating. After all the work he'd put into this case, studying shipment hit after stealthy, well-executed shipment hit for _weeks_ , there was no way he was dropping the case now.

Not when he was finally getting somewhere.

The work he'd put into building the algorithm had paid off - using a history of the hit locations and cross-referencing the hundreds of pharmaceutical companies, dozens of shipping locations, and thousands of likely clients, Tim had managed to uncover the gossamer traces of long-reaching, nearly invisible patterns. Patterns he could use to predict where the next hits were likely to occur, so he could be there.

Most nights, there was either no activity or too many possible targets to watch.Tonight, however, there were only three. Three was doable - especially after he’d gotten video footage of a crate being removed from the shipment and taken to another location. After close review of the city camera feeds, courtesy of Bab’s network, he’d discovered where the shipment had been taken. He had to go there _tonight._

Even if it meant going without backup.

Tim leaned against the wall at his back, steeling himself up for the night ahead. With Bruce’s mandate, there was no way he could count on help from Dick, Damian, or the rest of the bats - and normally, that’d be just fine: he’d just go off the books and ask his favorite backup for help.

Except that wasn’t an option tonight, not with Jason’s three-week deadline creeping up over the horizon. Jason would be playing it safe - as safe as Jason ever did - and keeping patrols close to Skyline, just in case he had to bolt. With Jason’s transformation so near, Tim wouldn’t risk pulling him out farther than he felt he could go.

_“I will not be going out there like this - I refuse. Do you understand?”_

Tim let his eyes drift closed, the words - Jason’s fear - still as cutting and painful as the day they were spoken. Exhaling slowly, he shoved the memory aside. It couldn’t be helped. He’d have to go it alone.

Silent as a wraith, Tim slipped off into the shadows, dodging streetlights and traffic cameras like only someone guided by the word of the Oracle - or the data lifted from her maps, Tim corrected with a sly grin - ever could. His destination shone like a beacon in his ocular projection, his path, a stream of light, and he followed it faithfully, the thrill of the chase singing through his veins.

~~~

When Tim arrived at the old shipyard, the place was quiet. With the coming of the night, the yard had been abandoned, all the workers now home in their beds. The lights were dimmed, the heavy machinery still and silent, and a cold mist had crept up from the river and spilled over the banks, sending ghostly shadows swirling through the empty lots. The only sign of recent activity were the tire tracks leading through the gate and up to the doors of the three warehouses.

One set of tracks seemed fresher than the rest. Setting his proximity sensors on high, Tim followed them to the warehouse on the far side of the yard, where he found the garage doors locked but a side door suspiciously open. If he listened carefully, he could almost hear footsteps. Maybe.

He drew his staffand stepped inside.

The warehouse was full of shipping crates of every size, from large, plastic-wrapped pallets of goods stacked high on towering metal shelves to smaller, more manageable packages - cardboard boxes, wooden crates - interspersed throughout, following some organizational scheme Tim couldn't even begin to fathom. He stepped forward carefully, sticking close to the shelves. The sounds of movement grew subtly louder. He could definitely hear footsteps now. And voices. They were here, somewhere. Tim's pulse quickened.

Quiet as a mouse, Tim prowled down the center aisle of the warehouse, sticking close to the shadows. His targets didn't seem to realize his presence; the whispers continued, hurried and rushed, and once Tim felt he'd drawn close enough to get a good look, he slipped into a side aisle adjacent to where the shipment thieves were working. He could almost make out their words - they _had_ to be in the aisle next to his, and he could cut off their only escape once he ascertained what they were up to. Allowing himself a small grin, he leaned forward and peered through the shelves until he could find a sight-line to the other side.

But all he could see was a small cassette player, a small red light gleaming faintly as the tape whirred on inside of it.

_“...yeah this has gotta be the one. The boss is gonna be pleased. We'll be able to get this in and out before anyone notices it's missing…”_

Tim reeled back, his heart constricting. In his ear, his proximity alarm began to blare.

Red Robin had been tricked.

Somewhere in the darkness, someone chuckled cruelly. “Oldest trick in the book, little birdie,” the intruder said, his gravelly voice muffled by a mask over his mouth. “Didn't even have to go digital.”

Tim whirled, his fingers tightening around his staff - not like it'd be much use here, in such tight quarters - and his stomach clenched as he made out the sight of a man wearing an orange and black mask, divided right through the middle. The wicked-looking blade in the man's hand glinted coldly in the dim light.

Deathstroke. Tim grit his teeth.

This was bad.

“What are you doing here?” Tim demanded. “This a theft case. You're a mercenary. Isn't this a little below your pay grade?”

Deathstroke made an amused sound, stalking slowly closer. “I was paid enough; we were expecting the Batman.”

Tim raised his staff threatening, a scowl cutting across his features.

“But you… you're just a child,” Deathstroke murmured, his voice filling with glee. Tim could almost picture the horrible smile hiding behind the full-face mask. “A child in way over your head.” He took another slow step forward.

Tim struck, thrusting the tip of his staff as hard as he could at the mercenary’s center, hoping to make contact or at least distract him long enough for Tim to get out of the corner and escape. This wasn't an encounter he prepared for.

This wasn't a fight he could win.

Deathstroke knocked the staff out of the way with a hard _crack_ , almost pulling it out of Tim's hands, and before Tim could recover, he threw something at Tim’s feet. Whatever it was, it exploded upon impact, too quick for Tim to dodge or deflect it, and it immediately began hissing, filling the air with plumes of pale gas.

Tim stiffened, his eyes growing wide as the toxin hit his bloodstream.

_Demon._

Tim staggered and felt his back hit the wall, the fear lancing through his mind obliterating any sense of rational thought. _There’s a demon in the darkness_ , his mind screamed. _It's coming for you, coming for you, coming for you..._

Turning frantically, he scrabbled at the crates, trying in vain to escape - too dizzy to make any real progress but too frightened to care.

“You should’ve known better, kid,” the demon cackled, fire flickering across his bloody, bloody mask, shaking his head as he raised his sword.

“This should serve as your warning.”

Fire split across Tim’s back.

He screamed.

~~~

“Red Hood.”

Jason jumped, startled by the sudden static crackle and the electronic voice in his comm. The night had been fairly quiet - he saved his calmer routes for the nights leading up to his transformation to avoid any undue complications, and the big bat’s recent crackdown on patrol safety meant the lines were nearly silent. Didn’t matter much to him; B would ping him if real trouble was going down.

But these weren’t the Batman’s gravelly, dulcet tones, no - Jason recognized the voice as belonging to one lovingly-programmed AI assistant whose creator fondly referred to it as -

“M.A.X.,” Jason greeted, pleased by the familiar contact. “I thought you were offline tonight, Red told me he was staying in to do some maintenance on you-”

“That is incorrect,” the AI interrupted. “Red Robin is in the field, pursuing his investigation. He is in danger.”

Jason’s blood turned to ice.

“I was instructed to contact you should his vitals reach critical levels. You must go to him.”

“Right,” Jason said sharply, throwing himself over his motorcycle and gunning the engine. “Lead me to him.”

~~~

Jason tore through the streets of Gotham like a bat out of hell, his mind churning with an icy dread. Questions rolled uneasily through his thoughts, questions he didn’t have answers to.

What had Tim been _thinking,_ going off on his own like that? The old man’s paranoia, as aggravating as it could be, was not triggered lightly; Tim should’ve known better. Tim shouldn’t have gone behind their backs. He hadn’t needed to go alone. To hell with Bruce’s mandate, Tim had friends, had allies, had _him._

Jason’s fingers tightened around the handles of the bike.

Why didn’t Tim come to him for back up?

Why did he _lie?_

Jason drifted around the corner, his knee nearly scraping the asphalt as he turned. The tires of the bike squealed in protest as he accelerated into the straight away again, weaving aggressively through traffic as he encountered it, earning honks and bitten off curses as he flew by them. He didn’t care. His heart was throbbing somewhere up in his throat, the pulse too ragged to swallow around.

_Hang in there, Tim._

_Please._

“The storage warehouses,” M.A.X. instructed. “Straight ahead and to the left.”

Jason forced the motorcycle even faster.

The warehouse yard was a rundown, dingy place, poorly lit and protected only by a worn chain-link fence, which was not designed to withstand the force of a motorcycle flying through it, breaking down the gate with a ferocious roar of the engine. Jason charged into the courtyard.

“His proximity sensors show no one else in the vicinity,” M.A.X. informed Jason as Jason scanned the silent warehouse. “Upon entering the building, he took 87 steps due north and another 34 steps due east.”

“Has he moved from there?” Jason growled.

“Negative.”

Jason broke into a sprint.

He heard Tim before he saw him, the dull rasp of armored hands scratching at metal storage crates and the sound of ragged, breathless whimpers pitifully, terrifyingly weak. Jason followed the noises and the tinny blip of M.A.X.’s proximity detector into an aisle between two rows of crates. A thin trail of blood led directly to the end of the aisle, where Jason could barely make out the quivering, crumpled form of Red Robin.

“Tim,” Jason whispered, shocked.

“Don’t _touch_ me!” Tim yelled, his voice breaking. “Don’t - don’t come any closer!” He clawed faster at the metal crate closest to him, struggling to stand.

“M.A.X.,” Jason breathed, recognizing the behavior immediately. “Was Tim… gassed?”

“Fear Toxin,” M.A.X. confirmed mechanically. “Complete composition unknown, but levels of identified compounds indicate the dosage should not be lethal, unless combined with severe blood loss or shock.”

“He’s bleeding,” Jason muttered.

“Sensors in the suit are showing one laceration along the back. Medical attention is required.”

Jason let out a curse. “He’s not gonna like this,” he muttered, dismissing the monitor.

Tim pounded against the container with a fist, then let out a broken yell.

“Tim,” Jason murmured, sinking down to one knee and removing his helmet, laying it to the side. “Timbers. _Tim_.”

Tim froze, then slowly looked towards Jason’s direction. He was shaking.

“Hey there, babybird,” Jason said softly. “Do you know who I am?”

“ _Jason,”_ Tim breathed, the word cracking on the last syllable. “Wha-what are you doing here? You need to get out, it’s not-t _safe-”_

“I know, babybird,” Jason whispered. He lowered his other knee, then moved a little closer, torn between his need to get Tim to safety and a deep, apprehensive sense of caution. One wrong move and the hallucination could snap, sending Tim into another panic. “I’m here to get you out. Can you come with me?”

“No,” Tim gasped. “They’ll find me, they’re going to find me. They k-know what I did.” He cringed, curling up fearfully against the cold concrete floor.

The movement gave Jason his first clear view at Tim’s back. With his cape torn nearly in two, Jason could see the long, thin-looking slice that stretched across Tim’s back. A precise and cruel wound, shallow enough to keep the victim alive while still forcing them to endure the full pain of the injury for as long as consciousness clung to them.

And looking at Tim, he didn’t have long.

“M.A.X.,” Jason said under his breath, hoping the microphone taped to his jaw would still transmit to the helmet. “Get me the location of my nearest safehouse, I know Tim has them saved.”

At the sound of his voice, Tim jolted upright. “Who are you talking to?” he demanded, his voice pitching higher with fear. “Are you telling them where I am?”

“No, no,” Jason soothed frantically, “I’m just trying to find a safe place to go so-”

A fist cracked against Jason’s face before he even registered Tim’s movement. “ _Liar!”_ Tim shouted, shoving a stunned Jason to the side. “You’re with _them!”_

Then Tim bolted, lurching past Jason and staggering into a stilted run. Blood dripped down onto the concrete as he ran. Jason swore.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Jason grumbled, shoving his helmet onto his head and lurching into a run. Tim let out a feral shriek when he saw he was being pursued, but it didn’t stop Jason from barrelling into him and sweeping him up into his arms, holding him firmly even as he flailed and kicked.

“M.A.X.! The coordinates!” Jason barked into his helmet, grimacing as Tim struggled in his grip.

“The nearest designated safe-house is four blocks south of your current location,” M.A.X. replied immediately.

“Take us there. Now!”

Jason ran into the courtyard, Tim still thrashing in his arms. Distantly, a part of Jason’s brain reminded him that the increased activity level would only worsen the blood loss. Jason needed to get Tim to stay still and calm.

Tim struck Jason in the side of the helmet with an elbow. Jason gave up on still and calm.

“Hang on tight, Timmers,” Jason grit out, climbing onto the bike. He wrapped Tim’s legs around his waist and squeezed his arm around Tim’s ribs. Four blocks. They could make it four blocks. “This won’t be fun.”

The bellow of the motor quickly changed Tim’s struggling into clinging to Jason with what little remained of his strength as Jason shot out into the street and whipped around the turn, tearing off to the nearby safehouse. Three minutes later, Jason was carrying a whimpering Tim up the stairs to the dingy, one-room apartment, the bike abandoned in the back alley outside. The door opened with the third key he tried and he staggered inside, setting Tim down on the beaten up couch before rummaging through the cabinets for medical supplies. Gauze. Alcohol. Needles. Thread. Gloves. Anaesthetic. Not enough, nowhere _near_ enough.

“Shit,” Jason hissed.

Tim let out a hoarse cry.

Fuck. He didn’t have time for this. Jason grabbed all the first aid supplies he could carry and rushed to Tim’s side. “Tim, _Timothy,_ ” Jason urged, “Do you know who I am?”

“Jason Todd,” Tim whispered.

“Do you remember me,” Jason demanded. _Me. Your boyfriend. Your lover. Your-_

Tim blinked. “Robin,” he breathed, trembling violently. “You were Robin. My Robin. You died.”

Jason let out a long breath. “Tim, you’re hurt,” he said carefully, struggling to ignore the sudden ache in his chest. “I can help you, but I need you to stay calm.” Tim stared at him, his eyes pale and vacant. “You hear me, babybird?” Jason pressed. “I just need you to stay. Calm.”

Heat shuddered down his spine.

 _No._ Jason's eyes went wide with terror, the sensation prickling along his skin horrifically familiar.

“No, no, _no!”_

Tim cowered and Jason reeled back in alarm. He hadn’t realized he was shouting. Adrenaline shot through his system, sending his heartbeat flying and turning his veins to ice. The colors in the room felt too bright. He laced his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily.

He couldn’t turn now. Not with Tim on the verge of a mental breakdown - or worse. If he morphed now, Tim would see. Tim would _panic._ He couldn’t let that happen.

 _Think, Todd._ There was no way to disguise himself, nowhere to hide in this one-room apartment. He had no one to turn to, not like this, not _seconds_ away from transformation - and even if he could call for help, no one would be able to make it in time.

 _Think, dammit!_ He staggered backwards, turning away from Tim’s frightened stare.

Over the deafening thunder of his pulse, he heard Tim cry out weakly.

 _“_ Jay _…”_

Jason stiffened, and the tentacles sprouted one by one, triggering the pressure sensors in his armor that allowed the back plate to break free. The plate fell to the ground and the tentacles uncoiled, impossible to ignore and unmistakeable in their monstrosity.

And Tim saw _everything._

“ _Jason!_ ”

The word was a harsh, broken scream, ragged on Tim's lips like it had been torn from his body. Tim leapt to his feet, only to collapse to the hard floor, throwing his hands out like he was trying to protect himself. “No!” he howled. “G-get away!"

Jason stilled.

In his darkest moments, Jason Todd had always wondered what death had felt like. He remembered dying, of course; dying felt like fire, like the life scorching from his flesh, his spirit ripped from his bones, never to return - or so he'd thought. Dying was excruciating, but death, death remained a mystery.

He supposed, distantly, as Timothy Drake’s fear and disgust and terror lanced through him like a white-hot blade, that death must feel a lot like this.

Behind him, he could hear Tim struggling to stand, but Jason couldn't bring himself to move, couldn’t seem to shake the numbness from his body. He felt hollow, like his lungs could no longer inflate. Pain radiated from somewhere behind his breastbone. Tim slammed a fist against the floor, a harsh cry clawing from his throat - and Jason couldn’t decide if he was going to run or shatter, because Tim sounded like nothing more than horror and fear and _rage_ and-

“ _Get away from him!”_

Tim slammed into Jason and tackled him with a furious shout, throwing them both to the floor. Before Jason could even think to react, Tim was pummeling him with what remained of his strength, grabbing and tearing at the tentacles like he was out for blood.

“Leave him alone!” Tim bellowed.

Acting on instinct, Jason rolled to the side, knocking Tim to the ground, but Tim sprang back in an instant, reaching for a weapon from his belt and, finding none, settling for beating at the tentacles with everything he had. Blood from his own wound dripped down his ribs, smattering across the floor and staining his hands.

“No!” Tim howled. “Jason, _no!”_

The battering stopped, Tim’s hands softening and shaking as the drugs in his system warped the world around him once again. Suddenly, Tim was on his knees at Jason’s side, clutching at his wrist to find his pulse as he assessed the imagined carnage with fear bright in his eyes. “Jason, Jason,” he choked out. “Jason, stay with me, you’re gonna be okay-”

He looked back down to the pool of scarlet spilling from Jason’s back, desperation etched across every feature.

“Oh my god, there’s so much blood,” he breathed.

Something in Jason’s heart unfroze.

“Tim,” Jason whispered hoarsely. He reached up, his hands finding Tim’s face. With a thumb, he brushed the tears that had fallen to Tim’s cheek.

“Timothy.”

Tim blinked. His eyes cleared, clarity, cool and sudden, spilling through his mind at the call of Jason’s voice.

“It’s okay,” Jason said quietly.

Tim hadn’t been afraid _of_ him, Jason realized with a start. The words echoed over and over in his mind.

_Get away from him!_

In the midst of facing his psyche’s greatest fears… Tim had been afraid _for_ him.

“I’m alright,” Jason murmured.

“You…” Tim looked around in bewilderment, confusion pulling lines into his brow. This was not the warehouse. He had not been with Jason. “Where…?” Understanding crashed over him like a wave. “I was gassed?” Tim whispered.

“And you’re bleeding,” Jason added, “and I’d like to get that patched up sooner rather than later.”

With some effort, Jason managed to get Tim situated on the tiny kitchen table so Jason could clean and dress his wound, pulling the torn suit to Tim’s waist so he could properly assess the damage. Jason was relieved to discover that the cut, while long, was mercifully shallow, and once the blood had been washed away and the wound disinfected, he began the long process of stitching it closed. Tim, to his credit, showed little discomfort throughout the process - Jason had quick, clever hands, and a combination of topical anaesthetic and sheer exhaustion dulled the worst of the pain.

The only thing interfering with the process, Jason noted with displeasure, were the tentacles. They seemed to recognize that any assistance they could offer Jason in his task would be worse than useless, and sensibly avoided him as such. Instead, they turned their attentions towards Tim, reaching hesitantly towards him as if to touch or even… comfort him. It was all Jason could to do focus on treating Tim’s injuries - he kept having to snatch straying limbs back at the last second, swatting them away each time until he seemed to spend more concentration on them than stitching Tim up.

Eventually, he just gave in.

Now free to wander as they pleased, the tentacles drifted back towards Tim, their movements shy and uncertain. They approached him slowly, brushing first at his hands and arms, as if to make certain he was aware of their presence, and then they carefully curled themselves around him, wrapping around his waist and draping over his lap like they were trying to keep him warm, nuzzling at his fingers to distract him from the pain. A single tentacle reached up to touch Tim’s face, tracing the salt-stung trails left by the tears Tim had shed in his fear before softly caressing his cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Tim smile weakly.

He wasn’t sure how they were doing it, if the tentacles had some mind of their own or they were moved by some guidance of his subconscious - if they were doing the job he needed to do or if they were helping him do what he couldn’t - but Jason decided suddenly and assuredly that he didn’t really care. Filled with a strange sense of relief, he refocused on treating Tim’s wounds. When he finished his Tim’s back, he cleaned and bandaged Tim’s hands, which had become bruised and bloodied from beating at Jason’s armor, and once done, he pulled Tim into his arms and carried him carefully to the bed.

“I don’t have a lot in terms of clothing here,” Jason said apologetically, “but you are not sleeping in your suit. I’ve got a pair of clean jeans, a pair of clean boxers, and a potentially clean tee-shirt; pick your poison.”

“The boxers, please. And the shirt. Gotta cover the bandages,” Tim said with a feeble chuckle. Jason handed the shirt and the boxers to him, tossed the jeans to the floor, and then helped Tim remove the rest of the torn suit before changing out of his own. When he’d stripped of his armor, he dimmed the lights and joined Tim in the bed.

“It’s over, babybird,” Jason said quietly. “You’re safe now.”

Tim gave him a weary, heartfelt smile. “Thanks for saving me, Jay.”

“Any time,” Jason replied.

“Even this time,” Tim murmured, reaching out and stroking one of the tentacles resting on his stomach, the realization filling him with awe. “You are amazing.”

“Well, shucks,” Jason laughed softly. “Now that’s something a man doesn’t hear every day.”

“Amazing, amazing, amazing,” Tim whispered, shifting in the bed so he could lay his head on Jason’s stomach. The tentacles gave him space to let him move, and once Tim had gotten comfortable, they returned to his side, settling on his arm and over his waist. Tim wrapped his fingers around a free one and let his eyes drift closed, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

Jason felt something inside his chest lurch, a gentle peace, like one he had never known before, rising up in spaces of himself he hadn’t realized were empty. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed his fingers through Tim’s hair. His hands were shaking.

“You can’t sleep yet,” Jason murmured. “I need to make sure you’re still alright and that the gas has worn off.”

Tim nodded.

“But I can stay here with you,” Jason offered, “and read to you, if you’d like?”

“What are you reading?” Tim asked sleepily.

“The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Tim smiled, recognizing the title. “Classic.”

The old book lay on the nightstand, waiting patiently for the nights when Jason returned to this corner of the world. He thumbed through the yellowed, well-worn pages quickly, and when he’d found the place where he’d left off last, he cleared his throat and began to read.

" _Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more onto the rose-lit garden, she would have seen that which would have made her own sufferings seem but light and easy to bear - a strong man, overwhelmed with his own passion and his own despair. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless.”_

Jason paused, swallowing thickly.

“ _He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love, and as soon as her light footstep had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested last_..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Ch. 16
> 
> (Heh. I'm... not in the least bit sorry. It was necessary for The Plot. But to make it up to y'all, the next two chapters are all 100% fluff and *lowers voice* the ~porn~ you all came here for. You're welcome. Please scream at me in the comments, I need the moral support to finish last bit of the smut chapter because it is LONG and writing is HARD.)


	6. Chapter 6

“You…” Bruce mused.

“Me,” Tim agreed.

“Were on patrol…”

“Yes.”

“Against orders,” Bruce added, the words dangerous and slow.

Tim swallowed.

“With Jason,” Bruce finished. His suspicion hung in the air like a cloud of dark smoke, heavy and stifling. Tim found it strangely hard to breathe.

“...yes,” Tim confirmed.

Bruce mulled it over. In the ensuing silence, Tim could hear his pulse throbbing in his ears. His heart pounded in his chest, beating against the examination table he lay on as Alfred inspected his wound. Lying to Bruce Wayne never got any easier, even after all these years. Tim only hoped Alfred wouldn’t recognize the nervous tics for what they were.

“Tell me again what happened,” Bruce demanded.

“It was a narcotics bust,” Tim repeated, rattling off the story he and Jason had decided upon that morning. “It was supposed to be easy; run in, destroy the drugs, run out. No injuries, no casualties,” he added pointedly. “I was ambushed before I reached the rendezvous point, the guy had a knife.” _Knives are kinda like swords, right? Not technically a lie…_ “I fought him off and Jason brought me back to his safe-house for treatment.”

“A job remarkably well done, I might add,” Alfred supplied, looking up from his examination. “That’s no small amount of stitches, Master Timothy - you were lucky not to end up in the hospital.”

“I know,” Tim agreed. “Jason was… a lifesaver, really.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, his gaze never leaving the long, thin laceration on Tim’s back, but he said nothing.

“Be that as it may,” Alfred continued, peeling the gloves from his hands with a crisp snap! “These stitches won’t be coming out for another two weeks, minimum.”

Tim groaned, his heart sinking.

“And another two weeks’ recuperative care after that.”

“A whole _month?”_ Tim asked.

“At the very least,” the butler said sternly. “There’s no telling what sort of damage that knife-wound may have caused to the muscles below the injured fascia - any more trauma and we could have a much bigger problems on our hands, of the sort that cannot be fixed by simple stitches and bedrest. You, Master Timothy, need time to heal. And _rest._ We can confer in a few weeks to determine whether you can be cleared for duty again or if you’ll need more time.”

As much as he wanted to fight it, Tim knew full well that Alfred had made the right call. Hadn’t he come to the same conclusion upon seeing the wound the next day? The prognosis came as no surprise to him... even if he did dislike it. “‘Tis but a flesh wound,” Tim muttered bitterly. 

Hearing the remark, the butler exhaled softly and gave a fond pat to Tim’s uninjured shoulder.

“You heard the deal,” Bruce declared. “Medical leave, four weeks minimum. No field work. No patrol.” 

Sighing, Tim pressed his forehead into the plastic-coated cushion of the exam table. _It’s the right course of action,_ he repeated to himself. He should consider himself lucky he hadn’t gotten any worse - if Bruce and Alfred had learned he had been fear-gassed, had seen the full trauma of that night, Tim wouldn’t be allowed within a hundred feet of his uniform for two months at least.

_And not within an entire city’s breadth of Jason Todd._

“Fine,” he conceded, pushing off from the table. “No cape. I’ll rest up.”

~~~

Didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

“Someone’s got a case of cabin fever,” Jason noted, glancing up over the top of his book and watching Tim from where he lounged in the deep-cushioned armchair of the Skyline study. Tim paced the wooden floor, back and forth, back and forth, rubbing at the back of his neck while scratching absently at his side with his free hand. Visibly, viscerally anxious. It made Jason’s skin crawl just watching him. “You keep going on like that and you’re going to wear a groove into the floor. Or scratch your skin off.”

“I can’t help it,” Tim grumbled. “I hate being stuck on the sidelines, I hate not being able to go and figure things out - _Deathstroke_ is out there, Jason! How the hell did he even get involved? Who’s-”

As Tim passed in front of him again, Jason reached out and snagged Tim’s hand. 

“Here,” Jason said. “Come sit with me. Grab a book, if you want. Just quit driving an Indy 500 around the room, you’re driving me nuts.”

Tim pursed his lips, then sighed, foregoing the book-route to sit beside Jason, curling his knees up to his chest. Without a word, Jason dog-eared the page and set his book aside, shifting so he could sprawl out across the armchair and pull Tim between his legs. Tim conceded, allowing Jason to move him as he would and then making himself comfortable, leaning back into Jason’s chest.

“This sucks,” Tim grumbled.

“Yep,” Jason agreed, wrapping his arms around Tim and taking Tim’s hands into his own. His hands were warm, unusually so, Jason noted with surprise. Leaning forward, he slid his chin over Tim's shoulder and pressed a kiss to Tim’s temple. 

Warm as well, but not feverishly so, Jason decided, smiling against Tim’s temple as Tim hummed happily at the touch. His skin wasn't damp either, like it might've been if Tim had been sick; instead, it was dry, and reddened where he had been scratching. Jason shook his head. “Geez, Tim,” Jason muttered. “Haven't you ever heard of taking it easy?”

Tim grinned. 

“Never.”

It didn’t seem like something to grin about several days later. By the end of the week, Tim felt like he was flying apart at the seams, not a single waking hour passing without him agonizing over the delays in his investigation, the answers he was almost on the brink of unearthing slipping through his fingers like smoke. To distract himself, he spent every day, from morning until late into the night, at Wayne Enterprises, and as soon as he got home he’d be clinging to his comm again, desperate for any whisper of news. Oracle had to update her security almost daily to keep Tim from hacking her feeds, eventually deciding - after the eighth morning spent repairing the breaches in her firewalls - to take pity on the benched vigilante and leave a backdoor for Tim to access whenever he wanted, keeping him company via video calls into the early hours of the morning. 

Jason, for his part, did his best to keep off patrol as much as was possible without raising suspicion - partially out of concern for the early transformation, and partially to keep an eye on Tim. They spent the evenings of Tim’s convalescence in strained quietude, Jason reading calmly on the cushioned armchair with Tim beside him, or on the floor by his feet, or wandering around the kitchen island, or marching around the empty living room, typing away furiously at his laptop, researching who knows what. Jason often had to physically carry him to bed at night, listening to Tim agonize over possibly relevant case details he had gleaned from some obscure source as Jason rubbed lotion into the skin of Tim’s back, his calves, his thighs, his wrists, all dry and reddened from Tim’s absentminded scratching. Tim would be at it again before he was up the next morning, Jason knew, but he did what he could.

He just couldn’t shake the feeling that Tim was in this state because of him.

It was almost a relief once Tim got the go-ahead to get the stitches removed - the stretching and the exercises gave Tim something to do, something more physically productive than pacing or scratching or tapping. But newly reclaimed freedom also served to make him that much more aggravating.

“If B catches you in the field when you shouldn't be, you're on your own,” Jason warned when he caught Tim trying to sneak out of Skyline for the third time that week. “I'm not saving your scrawny ass a second time.”

“Bullshit,” Tim grumbled bitterly, letting Jason drag him back to the study. “You love my ass.”

“I do,” Jason replied. “Which is why I'm not letting you out there until you're fully healed and cleared for duty.”

“Come on, Jay, I’m dying here,” Tim groaned. “I’ll be fine.”

“Been there, done that,” Jason shot back. “You’ll get no pity from me.”

Tim sighed.

~~~

After a month had passed, Tim’s back was practically - if not fully - healed. All that remained from his encounter with Deathstroke were a handful of hazy memories and a thin pink, puckered weal. It would scar, but it wouldn't be the first wound to do so, nor the last, and with the only lasting damage deemed superficial, Tim was cleared to return to the field and was anxious to get back into the action.

So of course, that was the afternoon Jason transformed. 

And as much as he resisted it, Jason was incapable of keeping Tim from staying in with him.

“Not gonna happen,” Tim insisted, ignoring Jason’s scowl as he plopped himself onto the armchair and sprawled out leisurely - a complete 180° from how he'd been acting just the day before. 

“You've been itching to get back out there for _weeks,”_ Jason reminded him. 

“It's just one more night,” Tim replied. 

“What if it's more?”

Tim tucked his hands under his head, rubbing idly at the back of his neck. “Then I guess I'll stay over for then too.”

“They'll be wondering why you're not out there,” Jason threatened.

“I can tell them I'm making adjustments to my suit.”

“More than the ones you already made while you were benched?” Jason demanded. 

Tim smiled easily. “They don't know about those.”

Several tentacles flicked irately at Jason's sides. “You're incorrigible,” he muttered.

“We've already established that,” Tim replied with a smirk. 

Realizing the futility of arguing further, Jason marched off with an angry huff and examined the bookshelves, taking a moment to select a book before settling in the empty chair opposite Tim. After a few minutes of griping silently to himself, he was finally able to focus on page in front of him, and began to read, the evening’s peace settling over his shoulders like a blanket. 

It didn't take long for that same peace to leave Tim behind completely. 

It started with his feet - those restless, twitchy jitters - and quickly traveled upward, growing in intensity until Tim was shaking his whole leg, his knee bouncing up and down like a jumping bean on overdrive, the rhythm of his tapping foot quick and incessant. Tim did his best to stifle the shaking by pushing his leg down with a palm, then crossing his ankles, then sitting on his feet, but to no avail. 

He'd stay here with Jason, but by sugar and circuitry, he had to do _something._

“Jay,” he said, bouncing to his feet. “Fight me.”

Jason glanced at him, an eyebrow quirking upward. As if to reply, he cast a pointed look at his comfortable position on the couch, then down to his side at the tentacles that had sprawled out over the armrest he leaned against, then looked back to Tim dismissively. 

“Jaaaaason, come _on,”_ Tim wheedled, drawing the words out. “I've spent the last month on your couch and I'm _bored.”_

“I'm not the one who decided to stay here,” Jason reminded him. “If you want a punch-up so bad, go on patrol.”

“I don't want a regular old punch-up,” Tim argued. “I'm out of practice. I want to spar. Here. With you.”

“Can't you see I'm busy?” Jason grumbled, trying - and failing - to keep the grin he was holding back from pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You've read that book like what, five times? Six?”

“Twice,” Jason countered. “And it's still just as good the third time.”

“And it will still be there when I'm finished with you,” Tim replied. “Fight me.”

“Fight you?” Jason snorted. “Really, Timmers? First night back off the bench and you want to fight the biggest baddie in all of Gotham?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “More like the city’s biggest softie,” he retorted, stripping down to an undershirt and a pair of athletic shorts. “Don't pretend you're not thrilled to spend another scintillating evening in my company.”

“Bad guys don't enjoy scintillating evenings with pretty boys,” Jason shot back. “I'm more of the ‘take you back to my lair and debauch you’ type.”

“You'd have to beat me first,” Tim challenged. 

“...that can be arranged,” Jason replied, pushing up from the armchair and letting his ratty bathrobe fall from his shoulders, the tentacles unfurling around him like the petals of some strange, exotic flower. 

Tim grinned. 

“Go set up the mats, menace,” Jason told him. “I'm gonna go change.”

“Is that how they say ‘cower in fear’ on the streets these days?” Tim teased. 

Jason flipped him the finger and then disappeared into his room. 

Still grinning, Tim sauntered over to the open area by the entry of the loft, a space empty except for a stack of black tumbling mats stacked up against the wall in the corner of the room. Tim maneuvered them easily, unfolding each one and laying them across the dark hardwood until the entire floor was covered. Once he had lined the last square up with the others, he put his hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork - there were few better places to spar, he decided, than a loft overlooking the city. Even with the heavy, gauzy dark curtains hung to prevent any onlookers from getting a look inside, Tim could still see the city lights, warm and hazy, scattered before him like distant galaxies caught in a telescope’s sight. 

Hands circled around his wrists and gripped Tim tightly, pulling him in close. “You lose,” Jason whispered into Tim’s hair. His breath was warm against Tim’s scalp, but still managed to send goosebumps prickling down his neck. 

“No fair,” Tim muttered, tugging against Jason's hold. 

Jason chuckled, then let Tim go. “You expected fair?” he asked, grinning openly as he watched Tim whirl and hop backwards, settling into a fighting stance a few paces away. 

“I suppose that was foolish of me,” Tim replied. “You can take the scrapper out of the streets, but you can’t take the streets out of the scrapper.”

Jason grinned. “Watch it pretty-boy,” he warned, pointing a finger at Tim. “This ‘scrapper’ is gonna lay you on your back.”

Tim smiled slyly in response. “I certainly hope so.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by the words, the tone - exactly as Tim had intended. Tim was on him in an instant, taking Jason’s surprise as an open invitation to leave a barrage of rapid, open-handed strikes across Jason’s flank and thighs before rolling out of the reach of the tentacles that swatted after him in return. 

Jason whipped around, trying to retaliate, but Tim was already moving, dodging to Jason’s side and attacking him as he passed again, chuckling as he did so.

“Laugh all you want, babybird,” Jason huffed, lurching around - too late, again. The extra weight on his center made him slower, dulled his reactions, but if he could just time it right…

 _Thwap!_ A tentacle smacked across Tim’s abdomen, with two more slapping at his thighs before Tim danced back out of their reach, frowning. Thinking quickly, Jason turned to face him, shifting his weight forward and sinking lower into his stance, the tentacles fanning out around him automatically to prepare for Tim’s next attack.

 _It’s just like before,_ Jason realized. Trying to fight like he normally would was useless - there was too much to control at once, too much for account for. But Jason didn’t _have_ to fight like he normally would. Not while he was like this. As loathe as he was to admit it, the tentacles were… a part of him. And he could rely on them, if he needed to.

Sighing in resignation, he closed his eyes.

Jason heard the instant Tim sprung into motion, heard his bare feet peeling from the mat, the sharp inhale at his left side - and without having to think, Jason leaned away the sound, counterbalancing for the tentacles that lashed out at Tim as he passed. Tim dropped to the mat with a surprised huff, tentacles tangled between his feet, and the sound of palms slapping the floor and the groan of vinyl told him that Tim had pushed to his feet and skirted out of reach, his attack foiled.

Jason grinned.

Tim ran at him again, but Jason was ready, a pair of tentacles snapping towards Tim’s knees before Tim could duck around him and attack from behind. Tim spun out of the way, evading the swinging limbs, only to get wrapped up in a third that came at him from the side and coiled around his waist like a snare. Tim yelped as the limb twisted and threw him to the floor with ease. 

“You’ve gotten better,” Tim observed with a huff, gathering the hair off the back of his neck and tying it off in a stubby ponytail. A slight flush had gathered at his cheeks.

“So it would seem,” Jason replied slyly. “Is this your way of tossing in the towel?”

“You wish,” Tim shot back, and he lunged for Jason again, landing a palm-strike on Jason’s ribs before darting out of reach again. Jason staggered to the side, unprepared for the speed of Tim’s advance, and as he wheeled to regain his balance Tim struck again at the back and sides of his thighs, and one playful smack on his butt for good measure. 

“Cocky, but can't cover your assets,” Tim teased. 

“Very funny,” Jason grumbled, aiming a switch at Tim’s calves that Tim narrowly avoided by jumping out of the way. “Let's see how _you_ like it.”

Jason re-centered himself and the tentacles snapped forward, three lashing at Tim’s feet while a fourth lay in waiting, striking only when Tim’s desperate swerve left him exposed to an attack from behind - an opening Jason couldn’t pass up, gleefully landing a wet-sounding smack on Tim's ass. 

Tim jumped in alarm, peeling the limb off with a look of shock. “Did you just… sucker my butt?” he asked, affronted. 

Another tentacle reached out and connected with a sharp _thwack!_ Jason grinned wickedly. “Two for flinching, babybird.”

“Oh yeah?” Tim asked. Quick as a flash, he dropped to the ground and threw a sweeping kick at Jason’s feet. Jason leapt to the side but his balance was off, and he fell to one knee and rolled onto his back. “Then what do you get for falling?” Tim asked. 

_“Leverage,”_ Jason replied with a gasp, and he wrapped his hands around Tim’s torso and flung him over his head, sending him rolling across the mats. He landed on his feet a good distance away. 

“You look good like this,” Tim said as he straightened, his gaze, for once, not scanning for openings and weak points but completely focused on Jason, intent and… admiring. 

Warmth spilled across Jason’s face. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Tim replied, but he didn’t explain further, choosing to look away instead, a sheepish look playing on his face.

“Well, of course I look good,” Jason said with a snort, confused by the exchange, but not unpleasantly so. “I’m winning,” he declared. “I’m good at that.”

“Really now?” Tim asked coyly. 

Jason grinned, noticing Tim lean subtly into the balls of his feet, preparing to spring. He braced himself.

“Really,” Jason replied.

Tim lunged, taking two bounding steps before launching himself at Jason in a flying leap.

It was a mistake.

Jason swiveled, throwing himself off the line of Tim’s attack even as tentacles shot out in the opposite direction to counterbalance the motion, wrapping around Tim in mid-air and throwing him bodily back down onto the mat. Tim went down like a stack of bricks and Jason was on him in an instant, dropping his weight onto Tim’s hips and moving on instinct to pin Tim’s hands over his head with two tentacles. Trapped. Jason’s head rang with the thrill of his triumph. He leaned forward over Tim, grinning smugly as he did so. “Yield,” Jason demanded. 

“Jason,” Tim gasped. “Kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheheh...

**Author's Note:**

> I want to continue this, but I'll need your support! Your comments mean the world to me, and hearing from you lets me know that people care about what I'm writing. <3 I respond to every comment I get, even if it takes me awhile - truly, they make my day - and they keep me motivated. And motivated writers mean more chapters! Please don't leave me alone in the trash. D:
> 
> My fandom tumblr is Redbirdcalling, Tanekore's fandom tumblr is Jaykore (and she draws the most incredible art). Join us for more wholesome batfam content.


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